Pi 



PS 2792 

.B3 

1900 



DS 
N BRAVE 



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ER,BURDETT VC 



» n \ K ) V- 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Cliap,.__^.__ Copyright ^N'o,. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




n»v •« 










V* 






The Silver Series of English and American Classics 

BALLADS 

OF 

AMERICAN BRAVERY 

EDITED, WITH NOTES 

BY 

CLINTON SCOLLARD 

AUTHOR OF "old AND NEW WORLD LYRICS," " SONGS OF SUNRISE LANDS," 

"the hills of song," etc. 




SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY 

New York BOSTON Chicago 



1 



12858 



^^Zl'j^ 



Library of Conprr^ss 

f WO Copies Received | 
JUN 30 19C0 I 

Copyr-glit cut y \ 

StCO\Hl COPY. 

Ociiveifid to 

OROtfi DIVISION, 

JUL 12 19 00 



Copyright, igoo, 
By silver. BURDETT AND COMPANY 



71045 



:f 



5 

I 

PREFATORY WORD 

While it has been, in the main, the purpose of the 
Editor to include in the present collection only such 
poems as commemorate some signal act of valor his- 
torically verified, it has seemed best to widen the 
scope sufficiently to admit a few selections that must 
have been excluded were the lines rigorously drawn. 
To appeal to the student of American history has been 
the primary aim; yet, inasmuch as the chord played 
upon — that of heroism — finds a responsive echo in 
every heart, it is hoped that the book may prove of 
interest to the general public as well. Though there 
has been no attempt at an exhaustive selection, a 
natural desire to cover as wide a field as possible has 
led to the admission of some ballads of lesser literary 
value, though it is believed that none will be found 
that has not sufficient merit to warrant its presence. 

The Editor desires to make grateful acknowledgment 
to Houghton, Mifflin & Company, Harper & Brothers, 
Charles Scribner's Sons, The Funk & VVagnalls Com- 
pany, The J. B. Lippincott Company, The Century 
Company, Herbert S. Stone & Company, John Lane, 
The Lothrop Publishing Company, and the Youth's 
Companion, for courtesies extended, and also to thank 
most heartily the various authors whose work is in- 
cluded, or those representing them, for their cordial 
cooperation. 

Clinton, New York, March, 1900. 



CONTENTS 



In Time of Strife 

I. Paul Revere's Ride . . . 

/ 2. Mary Butler's Ride . . . 
3. The Surprise at Ticonderoga 



Montgomery at Quebec 
The Maryland Battalion . 
Arnold at Stillwater . . 
The Yankee Man-of-War . 
The Ride of Jennie M'Neal 
The Song of Marion's Men 
How We Burned the " Phila 

delphia" 

The " Shannon " and the 
"Chesapeake" . . . , 
The Fight of the " Arm- 
strong " Privateer 
The Men of the Alamo 
The Fight at the San Jacinto . 
Monterey ...... 

The Defense of Lawrence . 
Blood Is Thicker than Water 
Bethel 



19. The Charge by the Ford 

20. The Little Drummer 



Henry Wadsworth Longfel- 
low ' 3 

Benjamin Franklin Taylor 7 
Mary Anna Phinney S tans- 
bury 13 

Clinton Scollard . . . . 17 

John Williajnson Palmer . 19 

Thomas Dunn English . . 21 

Anonymous 27 

IVill Carleton 29 

Willia7n Cullen Bryatit . 34 

Barrett Eastjuan .... 36 

Thoj?ias Tracy Bouve' . . 40 

James Jeffrey Roche . . 43 

James Jeffrey Roche . . 48 

John Williamson Palmer . 51 

Charles Fenno Hoffman , 54 

Richard Real f 55 

Wallace Rice 57 

A ugustine Joseph Hie key 

Duganne 61 

Thomas Dunn English . . 64 

Richard Henry Stoddard . 66 



VI 



CONTENTS 



21. The Cumberland Henry Wadstvorth Longfel- 

low 70 

22. Johnston at Shiloh .... Fle7ning James .... 72 

23. The River Fight Henry Howard Brownell . 77 

24. Kearny at Seven Pines . . . Edmtind Clarence Stedman . 81 

25. The Unknown Hero . . . William Gordon McCabe . 83 

26. Barbara Frietchie .... yohn Greenleaf Whittier . 84 

27. The Eagle of Corinth . . . Henry Howard Brozunell . 87 

28. Ready Ph(xbe Cary go 

?g. The Battle of Charleston Har- 
bor Paid Haviilton Hayne . . 91 

30. Keenan's Charge George Parsons Lathrop . 93 

31. The Hero of the Gun . . . Margaret Junkin Preston . 97 

32. An Incident of War .... Maurice Thompson ... 99 

33. The Black Regiment . . . George Henry Boker . . . loi 

34. Greencastle Jenny .... Helen Gray Cone .... 104 

35. John Burns of Gettysburg . . Bret Harte 106 

36. High Tide at Gettysburg , . Will Henry Thompson . .110 

37. Thomas at Chickamauga . . Kate Broivnlee Sherwood . 113 

38. The Smallest of the Drums . yames Biickham . . . .117 

39. Little Giffen Francis Orrery Ticknor . 119 

40. Ulric Dahlgren Kate Brownlee Sherzvood . 121 

41. Farragut William Tuckey Meredith . 122 

42. Lee to the Rear John Randolph Thompson . 124 

43. Craven Henry Nezubolt .... 128 

44. Gracie of Alabama .... Francis Orrery Ticknor . 129 

45. The Ballad of a Little Fun . Maurice Thompson . . . 131 

46. Sheridan's Ride Thomas Buchanan Reid . 133 

47. Down the Little Big Horn . Francis Brooks .... 135 

48. The Bond of Blood .... Will Henry Thompson . . 138 

49. A Ballad of Manila Bay . . Charles George Douglas Rob- 

erts 141 

50. Dewey at Manila .... Robert Underwood y'ohnsoii 143 

51. The Men of the " Merrimac ". Clinton Scollard .... 147 

52. The Charge at Santiago . . William Hamilton Hayne . 149 

53. Spain's Last Armada . . . Wallace Rice 150 

54. Ballad of Paco Town . . . Clinton Scollard . . . .155 

In Time of Peace 



55. Peace Hath Her Victories 

56. In the Tunnel . . . 



Wallace Rice 
Bret Harte . 



161 
163 



CONTENTS vii 

I'AGE 

57. The Ballad of Calnan's Christ- 

mas Helen Gray Cone .... 165 

58. How He Saved St. Michael's . Mary Anna Phinney Stans- 

btiry 167 

59. The Ride of Collin Graves , John Boyle O'Reilly . . .171 

60. Jim Bludso John Hay 174 

61. George Nidiver Anonymous 176 

62. A Man's Name Richard Real f 178 

63. The Man Who Rode to Cone- 

maugh John Eliot Boiven . . .180 

64. Johnny Bartholomew . . . Thomas £>unn English . . 182 

65. His Name Margaret yunkin Preston . 185 

66. Old Braddock John Vance Cheney . . .186 

67. In Apia Bay Charles George Douglas Rob- 

erts 189 

Notes ^93 



BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 



Great Greece hath her Thermopylce ; 

Stout Switzerland her Tell ; 
The Scot his Wallace heart — and we 

Have saints and shrines as well. 



Richard Real/. 



Hn Zxmc of Strife 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 



I 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

Listen, rny children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, ** If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 
And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 
Then he said, " Good-night! " and with muffled oar 
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 
Just as the moon rose over the bay. 
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

3 



4 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

The Somerset, British man-of-war; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street 
Wanders and watches with eager ears. 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door. 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, 

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. 

To the belfry chamber overhead, 

And startled the pigeons from their perch 

On the sombre rafters, that round him made 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 

To the highest window in the wall, 

Where he paused to listen and look down 

A moment on the roofs of the town, 

And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead. 
In their night encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still 
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
The watchful night-wind, as it went 
Creeping along from tent to tent. 
And seeming to whisper, " All is well! " 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 5 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away, 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, ^ 

Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 
And turned and tightened his saddle girth ; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height, 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns! 

A hurry of hoofs in the village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: 

That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the 

light. 
The fate of a nation was riding that night; 



BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 

Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep. 

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; 

And under the alders, that skirt its edge. 

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge. 

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock. 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock. 

And the barking of the farmer's dog. 

And felt the damp of the river fog. 

That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock. 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock. 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock. 

And the twitter of birds among the trees. 

And felt the breath of the morning breeze 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 

Who that day would be lying dead, 
Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farmyard wall. 
Chasing the redcoats down the lane. 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 

And so through the night went his cry of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 

A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door. 

And a word that shall echo forevermore ! 

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 

Through all our history, to the last. 

In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 

The people will waken and listen to hear 

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 

And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.) 



MARY BUTLER'S RIDE 

Ebenezer Eastman, of Gilmanton, is dead ; — 

At least they had him buried full fifty years ago ; — 
The gray White Mountain granite they set above his 
head. 



8 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

With some graven words upon it, to let the neighbors 

know 
Precisely what it was that made the grasses grow 
So wondrous rank and strong: How they rippled in 

the wind, 
As if nobody ever died, nobody ever sinned ! 
To that old Bible name of his what eloquence was lent 
When its owner marched to battle, — not a ration, not 

a tent. 
Nor a promise nor a sign of a Continental cent ! 
Ho, Ebenezer Eastman! We '11 call the roll again, — 
Ho, dead and gone Lieutenant of the old-time Mitiute- 

Men! 

Plowing land for turnips, with awkward Buck and 
Bright, 
Was stout Lieutenant Eastman, one lovely day In 
June ; 
He " hawed " them to the left and he " geed " them 
to the right, 
And they slowly came about in the lazy summer 

noon, 
He humming to himself the fragment of a tune. 
Which he would croon at night to the baby-boy who lay 
In bassv/ood trough becradled first, a week ago that 
day! 



All at a flying gallop a rider swings in sight, 

Pulls up beside the fallow and gives the view- 
halloo, — 

His horse's flanks are black, but his neck is foamy 
white : — • 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 9 

Turn out, Lieutenant Eastman! There 's some- 
thing else to do ! 
The redcoats are a-swarming! Your summer plow- 
ing 's through! " 

No other word — away! And the rattling of the hoofs 

Was like the rain from traveling clouds along the 
cabin roofs. 

The plowman turned his cattle out ; he saddled up the 
bay, 

And he rallied out the wilderness upon that summer 
day, 

And the Minute-Men of Gilmanton to Boston marched 
away. 

About the mother ? Well, she watched beside the 
cabin door, 

And rocked the baby's basswood boat upon the 
puncheon floor. 

Days grew long in Gilmanton, and weeds among the 

corn ; 
The quoiting ground was grassy, and louder rang the 

rill; 
The wrestling match was over, — the smithy was for- 
lorn, — • 
The spiders in the empty door had swung their webs 

at will, — 
The champions had gone to Bunker's smoky Hill, 
To try the quaint old-fashioned " lock " they practiced 

on the Green, 
And such a game of tough " square hold " the world 

has seldom seen ! 
About the father ? Only this; — he fought in Stark's 

brigade, 



lO BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

On Charlestown Neck, that dusty day. A splendid 

mark he made; 

He never flinched a sins^le inch when British cannon 

« 
played, 

But foddered up an old rail fence with Massachusetts 

hay, 
Stood out the battle at the rack, and stoutly blazed 

away! 
Lo, through the smoky glory, that human flower-de- 
luce. 
The gray-eyed Mary Butler, Lieutenant Eastman's 
wife! 
Her pallid cheek and brow like a holy flag of truce, 
Her heart as sweet and red as a rose's inner life. 
No murmur on her lips, nor sign of any strife. 
Four days before the fight. Has the little waman 

heard 
From anybody Boston way ? Nobody — not a word ! 

Then up rose Mary Butler, and set her wheel at rest ; 
She swept the puncheon floor, she washed the cot- 
tage pride, — 
The cottage pride of three weeks old, and dressed him 
in his best, — ■ 
She wound the clock that told the time her mother 

was a bride, 
And porringer and spoon she deftly laid aside ; 
She strung a clean white apron across the window 

panes. 
And swung the kettle from the crane, for fear of rusting 

rains; 
Then tossed her saddle on the bay and donned her 
linen gown, 



IN TIME OF STRIFE II 

And took the baby on before, — no looking round or 

down ! 
Full seventy miles to Cambridge town! Bring out 

your civic crown ! 
I think 't will fit that brow of hers who sadly smiled 

and said : 
" We '11 knozv about your father, boy, and who is hurt 

or dead ! ' ' 
The maple woods that round her stand so solemn in 

the calm. 
Up and down are swaying slowly, like a singing- 
master's palm. 
All together beating time, — not a soul to sing a psalm ! 
" There 's been a dreadful battle! " — that 's what the 

neighbors said, 
But when or where we cannot tell, nor who is hurt 

or dead." 

Rugged maples broke their ranks to let the rider by, 
Fell . in behind her noiseless as falls the stealthy 
dew; 
Such heavy folds of starless dark in double shadow lie, 
The slender bridle path she treads can only just show 

through. 
And buried in the leafy miles was all the world she 
knew. 
By muffled drum of partridge and jaunty jay-bird's fife. 
That mother made her lonely march, — that Continen- 
tal wife. 
She never drew the bridle rein till forty miles were 

done. 
And on her ended journey shone the second setting 
sun. 



12 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And round the Bay, like battle clock, tolled out the 

evening gun. 
Talk not of pomps and tournaments! If only you had 

seen 
The royal ride from Gilmanton, the halt at Cambridge 

Green ! 

Dust-bedimmed and weary, with a look as though she 

smiled, 
She melted through the haze of the summer's smoky 

gold! 
Some master's faded picture of Madonna and the Child, 
Born full a thousand years ago, and never growing 

old! 
She heard old Putnam's kennel growl, the bells of 

Charlestovvn tolled ; 
She saw the golden day turn gray within an ashen 

shroud, 
That showed the scarlet regulars like lightning through 

a cloud. 
Forth from the furnace and the fire Lieutenant East- 
man came, — 
The smell of powder in his clothes and fragrance in his 

fame, — 
And met her bravely waiting there, who bore his boy 

and name! — 
She from the howling wilderness — he from the hell of 

men. 
The little woman called the roll ; he called it back 

again ! 

Then lightly to the pillion the gray-eyed wife he 
swung. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 3 

A bundle on the saddlebow all tenderly he placed, 
And, lost amid the leafy calms where cannon never 
rung. 
Away they rode to Gilmanton, her arm around his 

waist, 
No general's sash of crimson silk so rarely could 
have graced ! 
Ah, Mary Butler cannot die, whatever sextons say, 
While yet life's azure pulses keep their old heroic play. 

A million men have lingered long, a million men have 

died. 
Who never saw a deed so grand as Mary Butler's ride! 

Benjamin Franklin Taylor. 



3 
THE SURPRISE OF TICONDEROGA 

'T WAS May upon the mountains, and on the airy wing 
Of every floating zephyr came pleasant sounds of 

spring,— 
Of robins in the orchards, brooks running clear and 

warm, 
Or chanticleer's shrill challenge from busy farm to 

farm. 

But, ranged in serried order, attent on sterner noise, 
Stood stalwart Ethan Allen and his " Green Mountain 

Boys," — 
Two hundred patriots listening, as with the ears of one, 
To the echo of the muskets that blazed at Lexington! 



14 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

" My comrades," — thus the leader spake to his gallant 

band, — 
" The key of all the Canadas is in King George's hand, 
Yet, while his careless warders our slender armies mock, 
Good Yankee swords — God willing — may pick his 
rusty lock! " 

At every pass a sentinel was set to guard the way, 
Lest the secret of their purpose some idle lip betray, 
As on the rocky highway they marched with steady 

feet 
To the rhythm of the brave hearts that in their bosoms 

beat. 

The curtain of the darkness closed 'round them like a 

tent, 
When, travel-worn and weary, yet not with courage 

spent, 
They halted on the border of slumbering Champlain, 
And saw the watch lights glimmer across the glassy 

plain. 

O proud Ticonderoga, enthroned amid the hills! 

O bastions of old Carillon, the " Fort of Chiming 

Rills!" 
Well might your quiet garrison have trembled where 

they lay. 
And, dreaming, grasped their sabres against the dawn 

of day ! 

In silence and in shadow the boats were pushed from 
shore. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE I 5 

Strong hands laid down the musket to ply the muffled 

oar; 
The startled ripples whitened and whispered in their 

wake, 
Then sank again, reposing, upon the peaceful lake. 

Fourscore and three they landed, just as the morning 

gray 
Gave warning on the hilltops to rest not or delay ; 
Behind, their comrades waited, the fortress frowned 

before, 
And the voice of Ethan Allen was in their ears once 

more : 

Soldiers, so long united — dread scourge of lawless 

power! 
Our country, torn and bleeding, calls to this desperate 

hour. 
One choice alone is left us, who hear that high behest — 
To quit our claims to valor, or put them to the test! 

I lead the storming column up yonder fateful hill. 
Yet not a man shall follow save at his ready will ! 
There leads no pathway backward — 't is death or 

victory ! 
Poise each his trusty firelock, ye that will come with 



me 



\ '■ 



From man to man a tremor ran at their captain's 

word, — 
(Like the " going" in the mulberry-trees that once 

King David heard),— 



1 6 BALLADS OF A MERLCA N BRA VER Y 

While his eagle glances sweeping adown the triple 

line, 
Saw, in the glowing twilight, each even barrel shine! 

" Right face, my men, and forward! " Low-spoken, 
swift-obeyed ! ^ 

They mount the slope unfaltering — they gain the es- 
planade ! 

A single drowsy sentry beside the wicket-gate, 

Snapping his aimless fusil, shouts the alarm — too late ! 

They swarm before the barracks — the quaking guards 

take flight, 
And such a shout exultant resounds along the height. 
As rang from shore and headland scarce twenty years 

ago. 
When brave Montcalm's defenders charged on a British 
foe! 

Leaps from his bed in terror the ill-starred Delaplace, 
To meet across his threshold a wall he may not pass ! 
The bayonets' lightning flashes athwart his dazzled 

eyes, 
And, in tones of sudden thunder, '' Surrender! " Allen 

cries. 

" Then in whose name the summons ? " the ashen lips 

reply. 
The mountaineer's stern visage turns proudly toward 

the sky, — 
" In the name of great Jehovah ! " he speaks with lifted 

sword, 
" And the Continental Congress, who wait upon His 

word ! " 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 7 

Light clouds, like crimson banners, trailed bright 

across the east. 
As the great sun rose in splendor above a conflict 

ceased, 
Gilding the bloodless triumph for equal rights and laws, 
As with the smile of heaven upon a holy cause. 

Still, wave on wave of verdure, the emerald hills arise. 

Where once were heroes mustered from men of com- 
mon guise, 

And still, on Freedom's roster, through all her glorious 
years. 

Shine the names of Ethan Allen and his bold volun- 
teers! 

Mary Anna Phinney Stansbury. 

(By special permission of the author, and of The Youths s Co7npanion.) 



4 
MONTGOMERY AT QUEBEC 

Round Quebec's embattled walls 
Moodily the patriots lay; 

Dread disease within its thralls 
Drew them closer day by day; 

Till from suffering man to man, 

Mutinous, a murmur ran. 

Footsore, they had wandered far. 
They had fasted, they had bled; 

They had slept beneath the star 
With no pillow for the head ; 

Was it but to freeze to stone 

In this cruel icy zone ? 



1 8 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Yet their leader held his heart, 

Naught discouraged, naught dismayed ; 

Quelled with unobtrusive art 
Those that muttered; unafraid 

Waited, watchful, for the hour 

When his golden chance should flower. 

'T was the death-tide of the year; 

Night had passed its murky noon ; 
Through the bitter atmosphere 

Pierced nor ray of star nor moon; 
But upon the bleak earth beat 
Blinding arrows of the sleet. 

While the trumpets of the storm 

Pealed the bastioned heights around, 

Did the dauntless heroes form, 
Did the low, sharp order sound. 
Be the watchword Liberty ! " 

Cried the brave Montgomery. 

Here, where he had won applause. 
When Wolfe faced the Gallic foe. 

For a nobler, grander cause 

Would he strike the fearless blow, — 

Smite at Wrong upon the throne. 

At Injustice giant grown. 

Men, you will not fear to tread 
W^here your general dares to lead! 
On, my valiant boys! " he said, 
And his foot was first to speed ; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 9 

Swiftly up the beetling steep, 
Lion-hearted, did he leap. 

Flashed a sudden blinding glare; 

Roared a fearsome battle-peal ; 
Rang the gloomy vasts of air ; 

Seemed the earth to rock and reel; 
While adown that fiery breath 
Rode the hurtling bolts of death. 

Woe for him, the valorous one, 

Now a silent clod of clay! 
Nevermore for him the sun 

Would make glad the paths of day; 
Yet 't were better thus to die 
Than to cringe to tyranny ! — 

Better thus the life to yield, 

Striking for the right and God, 
Upon Freedom's gory field, 

Than to kiss Oppression's rod! 
Honor, then, for all time be 
To the brave Montgomery ! 

Clinton Scollard. 



5 
THE MARYLAND BATTALION 

Spruce Macaronis, and pretty to see, 
Tidy and dapper and gallant were we; 
Blooded fine gentlemen, proper and tall. 
Bold in a fox-hunt and gay at a ball ; 



20 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Prancing soldados so martial and bluff, 
Billets for bullets, in scarlet and buff — 
But our cockades were clasped with a mother's low 

prayer, 
And the sweethearts that braided the sword-knots were 

fair. 

There was grummer of drums humming hoarse in the 

hills, 
And the bugles sang fanfaron down by the mills. 
By Flatbush the bagpipes were droning amain. 
And keen cracked the rifles in Martense's lane; 
For the Hessians v/ere flecking the hedges with red. 
And the grenadiers' tramp marked the roll of the dead. 

Three to one, flank and rear, flashed the files of St. 

George, 
The fierce gleam of their steel as the glow of a forge. 
The brutal boom-boom of their swart cannoneers 
Was sweet music compared with the taunt of their 

cheers — 
For the brunt of their onset, our crippled array, 
And the light of God's leading gone out in the fray. 

Oh, the rout on the left and the tug on the right! 
The mad plunge of the charge and the wreck of the 

flight! 
When the cohorts of Grant held stout Stirling at strain, 
And the mongrels of Hesse went tearing the slain; 
When at Freeke's Mill the flumes and the sluices ran 

red, 
And the dead choked the dike and the marsh choked 

the dead! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 21 

" Oh, Stirling, good Stirling, how long must we wait ? 
Shall the shout of your trumpet unleash us too late ? 
Have you never a dash for brave. Mordecai Gist, 
With his heart in his throat, and his blade in his 

fist ? 
Are we good for no more than to prance in a ball. 
When the drums beat the charge and the clarions 

call?" 

Tralara ! Tralara! Now praise we the Lord 
For the clang of His call and the flash of His sword! 
Tralara! Tralara! Now forward to die; 
For the banner, hurrah ! and for sweethearts, good-by ! 
Four hundred wild lads! " May be so. I '11 be 
bound 
'T will be easy to count us, face up, on the ground. 
If we hold the road open, though Death take the toll. 
We '11 be missed on parade when the States call the 

roll- 
When the flags meet in peace and the guns are at rest. 
And fair Freedom is singing Sweet Home in the West. 

John Williamson Palmer. 
(By special permission of the author.) 



6 
ARNOLD AT STILLWATER 

Ah, you mistake me, comrades, to think that my heart 

is steel! 
Cased in a cold endurance, nor pleasure nor pain to 

feel; 



22 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Cold as I am in my manner, yet over these cheeks so 

seared 
Teardrops have fallen in torrents, thrice since my chin 

grew beard. 

Thrice since my chin was bearded I suffered the tears 

to fall ; 
Benedict Arnold, the traitor, he was the cause of them 

all! 
Once, when he carried Stillwater, proud of his valor, I 

cried ; 
Then, with my rage at his treason — with pity when 

Andre died. 

Benedict Arnold, the traitor, sank deep in the pit of 

shame, 
Bartered for vengeance his honor, blackened for profit 

his fame; 
Yet never a gallanter soldier, whatever his after crime. 
Fought on the red field of honor than he in his early 

time. 

Ah, I remember Stillwater, as it were yesterday ! 

Then first I shouldered a firelock, and set out the foe- 
men to slay. 

The country was up all around us, racing and chasing 
Burgoyne, 

And I had gone out with my neighbors. Gates and his 
forces to join. 

Marched we with Poor and with Learned, ready and 

eager to fight ; 
There stood the foemen before us, cannon and men on 

the height ; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 2 7, 

Onward we trod with no shouting, forbidden to fire till 

the word ; 
As silent their long line of scarlet — not one of them 

whispered or stirred. 

Suddenly, then, from among them smoke rose and 

spread on the breeze ; 
Grapeshot flew over us sharply, cutting the limbs from 

the trees; 
But onward we pressed till the order of Cilley fell full 

on the ear; 
Then we leveled our pieces and fired them, and rushed 

up the slope with a cheer. 

Fiercely we charged on their center, and beat back the 

stout grenadiers. 
And wounded the brave Major Ackland, and grappled 

the swart cannoneers; 
Five times we captured their cannons, and five times 

they took them again ; 
But the sixth time we had them we kept them, and 

with them a share of their men. 

Our colonel who led us dismounted, high on a cannon 
he sprang; 

Over the noise of our shouting clearly his joyous words 
rang; 

" These are our own brazen beauties! Here to Amer- 
ica's cause 

I dedicate each, and to freedom ! — foes to King George 
and his laws! " 

Worn as we were with the struggle, wounded and 
bleeding and sore. 



24 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Some stood all pale and exhausted ; some lay there 

stiff in their gore; 
And round through the mass went a murmur, that 

grew to a v/hispering clear, 
And then to reproaches outspoken — " If General 

Arnold were here! " 

For Gates, in his folly and envy, had given the chief 

no command, 
And far in the rear some had seen him horseless and 

moodily stand, 
Knitting his forehead in anger, gnawing his red lip in 

pain, 
Fretting himself like a bloodhound held back from his 

prey by a chain. 

Hark, at our right there is cheering! there is the ruffle 

of drums ! 
Here is the well-known brown charger! Spurring it 

madly he comes! 
Learned's brigade have espied him, rending the air 

with a cheer; 
Woe to the terrified foeman, now that our leader is 

here! 

Piercing the tumult behind him, Armstrong is out on 

his track ; 
Gates has dispatched his lieutenant to summon the 

fugitive back. 
Armstrong might summon the tempest, order the 

whirlwind to stay, 
Issue commands to the earthquake — would they the 
mandate obey ? 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 2$ 

Wounds, they were healed in a moment! weariness in- 
stantly gone ! 

Forward he pointed his sabre — led us, not ordered us on. 

Down on the Hessians we thundered, he, like a mad- 
man ahead ; 

Vainly they strove to withstand us; raging, they shiv- 
ered and fled. 

On to their earthworks we drove them, shaking with 

ire and dismay ; 
There they made stand with a purpose to beat back 

the tide of the day. 
Onv/ard we followed, then faltered ; deadly their balls 

whistled free. 
Where was our death-daring leader ? Arnold, our 

hope, where was he ? 

He ? He was everywhere riding! hither and thither 

his form, 
On the brown charger careering, showed us the path 

of the storm ; 
Over the roar of the cannon, over the musketry's crash. 
Sounded his voice, while his sabre lit up the way with 

its flash. 

Throwing quick glances around him, reining a moment 

his steed — • 
" Brooks, that redoubt! " was his order; " let the rest 

follow my lead ! 
Mark where the smoke-cloud is parting! see where the 

gun-barrels glance! 
Livingston, forward ! On, Wesson, charge them ! Let 

Morgan advance! " 



26 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Forward!" he shouted, and, spurring on through 

the sally-port then, 
Fell sword in hand on the Hessians, closely behind him 

our men. 
Back shrank the foemen in terror; off went their forces 

pellmell, 
Firing one Parthian volley ; struck by it, Arnold, he fell. 

Ours was the day. Up we raised him ; spurted the 

blood from his knee — 
Take my cravat, boys, and bind it; I am not dead 

yet," said he. 
" What ! did you follow me, Armstrong ? Pray, do 

you think it quite right. 
Leaving your duties out yonder, to risk your dear self 

in the fight ? " 

*' General Gates sent his orders " — faltering the aid- 
de-camp spoke — 

" You 're to return, lest some rashness — " Fiercely 
the speech Arnold broke: 

" Rashness! Why, yes, tell the general the rashness 
he dreaded is done! 

Tell him his kinsfolk are beaten ! tell him the battle is 



won 



\ " 



Oh, that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight, 
Passed from a daylight of honor into the terrible 

night ! — 
Fell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in 

space, fell — 

Fell from the patriot's heaven down to the loyalist's 

hell ! 

Thomas Dunn English. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 2/ 

/ 

THE YANKEE MAN-OF-WAR 

'T IS of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the Stripes 

and Stars, 
And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west blew 

through the pitch-pine spars, — 
With her starboard tacks a-board, my boys, she hung 

upon the gale. 
On an autumn night we raised the light on the old 

head of Kinsale. 



It was a clear and cloudless night, and the wind blew 

steady and strong, 
As gaily over the sparkling deep our good ship bowled 

along ; 
With the foaming seas beneath her bow the fiery waves 

she spread, 
And bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her 

lee cathead. 

There was no talk of shortening sail by him who walked 

the poop. 
And under the press of her pondering jib, the boom 

bent like a hoop ! 
And the groaning waterways told the strain that held 

her stout main-tack, 
But he only laughed as he glanced abaft at the white 

and silvery track. 

The mid-tide meets in the channel waves that flow 
from shore to shore. 

And the mist hung heavy upon the land from Feather- 
stone to Dunmore; 



28 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And that sterling light on Tusker rock, where the old 

bell tolls the hour, 
And the beacon light that shone so bright was 

quenched on Waterford tower. 

The nightly robes our good ship wore were her three 

topsails set, 
The spanker and her standing jib, the spanker being 

fast ; 
" Now, lay aloft, my heroes bold, let not a moment 

pass! " 
And royals and topgallant sails were quickly on each 

mast. 

What looms upon the starboard bow ? What hangs 

upon the breeze ? 
'T is time our good ship hauled her wind abreast the 

old Saltees; 
For by her ponderous press of sail and by her consorts 

four 
We saw our morning visitor was a British man-of-war. 

Up spoke our noble captain then, as a shot ahead of 

us passed, 
Haul snug your flowing courses, lay your topsail to 

the mast ! " 
The Englishmen gave three loud hurrahs from the 

deck of their covered ark, 
And we ansv/ered back by a solid broadside from the 

decks of our patriot bark. 

"Out, booms! Out, booms!" our skipper cried. 
Out, booms, and give her sheet! " 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 29 

And the swiftest keel that ever was launched shot 

ahead of the British fleet. 
And amidst a thundering shower of shot, with stunsails 

hoisting away, 
Down the North Channel Paul Jones did steer, just at 

the break of day. 

Anonymous. 



THE RIDE OF JENNIE M'NEAL 

Paul Revere was a rider bold — 
Well has his valorous deed been told; 
Sheridan's ride was a glorious one — 
Often has it been dwelt upon. 
But why should men do all the deeds 
On which the love of a patriot feeds ? 
Hearken to me, while I reveal 
The dashing ride of Jennie M'Neal. 

On a spot as pretty as might be found 

In the dangerous length of the Neutral Ground, 

In a cottage, cosy, and all their own. 

She and her mother lived alone. 

Safe were the two, with their frugal store, 

From all of the many who passed their door; 

For Jennie's mother was strange to fears. 

And Jennie was large for fifteen years; 

With vim her eyes were glistening, 

Her hair was the hue of the blackbird's wing; 

And while the friends who knew her well 

The sweetness of her heart could tell. 



30 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

A gun that hung on the kitchen wall 
Looked solemnly quick to heed her call; 
And they who were evil-minded knew 
Her nerve was strong and her aim was true. 
So all kind words and acts did deal 
To generous, black-eyed Jennie M'Neal. 

One night when the sun had crept to bed, 

And rain clouds lingered overhead, 

And sent their surly drops for proof 

To drum a tune on the cottage roof, 

Close after a knock at the outer door, 

There entered a dozen dragoons or more. 

Their red coats, stained by the muddy road, 

That they were British soldiers showed ; 

The captain his hostess bent to greet, 

Saying, " Madam, please give us a bit to eat; 

We will pay you well, and, if may be. 

This bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea; 

Then we must dash ten miles ahead, 

To catch a rebel colonel abed. 

He is visiting home, as doth appear; 

We will make his pleasure cost him dear." 

And they fell on the hasty supper with zeal, 

Close-watched the while by Jennie M'Neal. 

For the gray-haired colonel they hovered near 
Had been her true friend, kind and dear; 
And oft, in her younger days, had he 
Right proudly perched her upon his knee, 
And told her stories many a one 
Concerning the French war lately done. 
And oft together the two friends were. 
And many the arts he had taught to her; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 3 1 

She had hunted by his fatherly side, 
He had shown her how to fence and ride; 
And once had said, " The time may be, 
Your skill and courage may stand by me." 
So sorrow for him she could but feel, 
Brave, grateful-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

With never a thought or a moment more, 
Bare-headed she slipped from the cottage door, 
Ran out where the horses were left to feed, 
Unhitched and mounted the captain's steed, 
And down the hilly and rock-strewn way 
She urged the fiery horse of gray. 
Around her slender and cloakless form 
Pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm; 
Secure and tight, a gloveless hand 
Grasped the reins with stern command; 
And full and black her long hair streamed 
Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed. 
And on she rushed for the colonel's weal, 
Brave, lioness-hearted Jennie M'Neal. . 

Hark! — From the hills, a moment mute. 
Came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit ; 
And a cry from the foremost trooper said, 
" Halt, or your blood be on your head ! " 
She heeded it not, and not in vain 
She lashed the horse with the bridle rein. 
So into the night the gray horse strode; 
His shoes hewed fire from the rocky road ; 
And the highborn courage that never dies 
Flashed from the rider's coal-black eyes. 
The pebbles flew from that fearful race; 
The raindrops grasped at her glowing face. 



32 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

On, on, brave beast! " with loud appeal. 
Cried eager, resolute Jennie M'Neal. 

" Halt! " once more came the voice of dread; 

*' Halt, or your blood be on your head! " 

Then, no one answering to the calls, 

Sped after her a volley of balls. 

They passed her in their rapid flight. 

They screamed to her left, they screamed to her 

right ; 
But, rushing o'er the slippery track, 
She sent no token of answer back, 
Except a silvery laughter-peal, 
Brave, merry-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

So on she rushed, at her own good will. 

Through wood and valley, o'er plain and hill; 

The gray horse did his duty well. 

Till all at once he stumbled and fell. 

Himself escaping the nets of harm, 

But flinging the girl with a broken arm. 

Still undismayed by the numbing pain, 

She clung to the horse's bridle rein. 

And gently bidding him to stand, 

Petted him with her able hand ; 

Then sprung again to the saddlebow, 

And shouted, " One more trial now! " 

As if ashamed of the heedless fall 

He gathered his strength once more for all, 

And, galloping down a hillside steep. 

Gained on the troopers at every leap; 

No more the high-bred steed did reel. 

But ran his best for Jennie M'Neal. 



7".'V TIME OF STRIFE 33 

They were a furlong behind, or more, 
When the girl burst through the colonel's door, 
Her poor arm hanging helpless with pain, 
And she all drabbled and drenched with rain, 
But her cheeks as red as firebrands are. 
And her eyes as bright as a blazing star; 
And shouted, " Quick, be quick, I say! 
They come! they come! — away! away!" 
Then sunk on the rude white floor of deal, 
Poor, brave, exhausted Jennie M'Neal. 

The startled colonel sprung, and pressed 

The wife and children to his breast, 

And turned away from his fireside bright, 

And glided into the stormy night ; 

Then soon and safely made his way 

To where the patriot army lay. 

But first he bent, in the dim firelight, 

And kissed the forehead broad and white. 

And blessed the girl v/ho had ridden so well 

To keep him out of a prison cell. 

The girl roused up at the martial din. 

Just as the troopers came rushing in. 

And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan, 

Saying, " Good sirs, your bird has flown. 

'T is I who have scared him from his nest ; 

So deal with me now as you think best." 

But the grand young captain bowed, and said, 

Never you hold a moment's dread. 
Of womankind I must crown you queen: 
So brave a girl I have never seen. 
Wear this gold ring as your valor's due, 
And when peace comes I will come for you." 



34 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

But Jennie's face an arch snnile wore, 

As she said, " There 's a lad in Putnam's corps 

Who told me the same, long time ago; 

You two would never agree, I know. 

I promised my love to be true as steel," 

Said good, sure-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

Will Carleton. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 



9 
SONG OF MARION'S MEN 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold ; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress tree; 
We know the forest round us 

As seamen know the sea; 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear; 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth aeain : 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 35 

And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil; 
We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout 

As if a hunt were up. 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles. 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'T is life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
'T is life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away, 
Back to the pathless forest 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 
Grave men with boary hairs ; 



36 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band, 

With kindest welcoming. 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms. 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton 

Forever from our shore. 

WnxiAM CuLLEN Bryant. 



HOW WE BURNED THE '' PHILADELPHIA" 

By the beard of the Prophet the Bashazv szvore 

He would scourge us from the seas ; 
Yankees should trouble his soul no more — 
By the Prophef s beard the Bashazv szvore^ 

Then lighted his hookah^ and took his ease^ 
And troubled his soul no more. 

The moon was dim in the western sky, 

And a mist fell soft on the sea, 
As we slipped away from the Siren brig 

And headed for Tripoli. 

Behind us the hulk of the Siren lay, 

Before us the empty night; 
And when again we looked behind 

The Siren was gone from our sight. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 3/ 

Nothing behind us, and nothing before, 

Only the silence and rain, 
As the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows 

And cast us up again. 

Through the rain and the silence we stole along. 

Cautious and stealthy and slow, 
For we knew the waters were full of those 

Who might challenge the Mastico. 

But nothing we saw till we saw the ghost 

Of the ship we had come to see. 
Her ghostly lights and her ghostly frame 

Rolling uneasily. 

And as we looked, the mist drew up 

And the moon threw off her veil, 
And we saw the ship in the pale moonlight, 

Ghostly and drear and pale. 

Then spoke Decatur low and said : 

** To the bulwarks' shadow all! 
But the six who wear the Tripoli dress 

Shall answer the sentinel's call." 

" What ship is that ? " cried the sentinel. 

** No ship," was the answer free; 
" But only a Malta ketch in distress 

Wanting to moor in your lee. 

" We have lost our anchor, and wait for day 

To sail into Tripoli town. 
And the sea rolls fierce and high to-night. 

So cast a cable down." 



38 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Then close to the frigate's side we came, 
Made fast to her unforbid — • 

Six of us bold in the heathen dress, 
The rest of us lying hid. 

But one who saw us hiding there 

" Ainericano ! " cried. 
Then straight we rose and made a rush 

Pellmell up the frigate's side. 

Less than a hundred men were we, 
And the heathen were twenty score; 

But a Yankee sailor in those old days 
Liked odds of one to four. 

And first we cleaned the quarter deck. 
And then from stern to stem 

We charged into our enemies 
And quickly slaughtered them. 

All around was the dreadful sound 
Of corpses striking the sea, 

And the awful shrieks of dying men 
In their last agony. 

The heathen fought like devils all, 

But one by one they fell, 
Swept from the deck by our cutlasses 

To the water, and so to hell. 

Some we found in the black of the hold, 

Some to the fo'c's'le fled. 
But all in vain ; we sought them out 

And left them lying dead; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 39 

Till at last no soul but Christian souls 

Upon that ship was found ; 
The twenty score were dead, and we, 

The hundred, safe and sound. 

And, stumbling over the tangled dead, 

The deck a crimson tide, 
We fired the ship from keel to shrouds 

And tumbled over the side. 

Then out to sea we sailed once more, 

With the world as light as day, 
And the flames revealed a hundred sail 

Of the heathen there in the bay. 

All suddenly the red light paled. 

And the rain rang out on the sea; 
Then — a dazzling flash, a deafening roar, 

Between us and Tripoli ! 

Then, nothing behind us, and nothing before, 

Only the silence and rain; 
And the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows 

And cast us up again. 

By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore 

He would scourge us from the seas ; 
Yankees should trouble Ids soul no more — 
By the Prophef s beard the Bashazv swore. 

Then lighted his hookah, and took his ease, 
And troubled his soul no more. 

Barrett Eastman. 

(By special permission of the author.) 



40 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 



II 



THE '* SHANNON " AND TPIE " CHESA- 
PEAKE " 

The captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay, 
A reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright 

and gay ; 
His cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid 

the sea 
Was driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee. 

The captain of the Shannon sent word into the town : 
Was Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his 

frigate down 
And meet him at the harbor's mouth and fight him, 

gun to gun, 
For honor's sake, with pride at stake, until the fight 

was won ? 

Now, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter 

main ; 
With many a scar and wound of war his ship was home 

again ; 
His crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and 

wide, 
And scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his 

side. 

But to refuse the challenge ? Could he outlive the 

shame ? 
Brave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to 

his fame. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 4 1 

Once more the great ship Chesapeake prepared her for 

the fight,— 
" I '11 brhig the foe to town in tow," he said, ** before 
to-night! " 

High on the hills of Hingham that overlook the shore, 
To watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could 

do no more, 
The children of the country watched the children of 

the sea 
When the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted 

back to lee. 

How can he fight," they whispered, " with only half 

a crew. 
Though they be rare to do and dare, yet what can 

brave men do ? " 
But when the Chesapeake came down, the Stars and 

Stripes on high. 
Stilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to 

the sky. 

The captain of the Shannon^ he swore both long and 

loud : 
This victory, where'er it be, shall make two nations 

proud! 
Now onward to this victory or downward to defeat ! 
A sailor's life is sweet with strife, a sailor's death as 

sweet." 

And as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy 

thunders roar, 
And crashing surge plays devil's dirge upon the stricken 

shore, 



42 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

With thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships 

rang with shot, 
And every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot. 

And twice they lashed together and twice they tore 

apart, 
And iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each 

oaken heart. 
Still from the hills of Hingham men watched with 

hopes and fears, 
While all the bay was torn that day with shot that 

rained like tears. 

The tall masts of the Chesapeake went groaning by the 

board ; 
The Shannon s spars were weak with scars when Broke 

cast down his sword : 
Now woe," he cried, " to England, and shame and 

woe to me! " 
The smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back 

to lee. 

Give them one breaking broadside more," he cried, 

" before we strike ! " 
But one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home 

alike 
Laid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lip 
Rang to the land his last command : " Boys, don't give 

up the ship ! " 

The wounded wept like women when they hauled her 

ensign down. 
Men's cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham 

to the town 



nV TIME OF STRIFE 43 

They hurried swift in silence, while toward the eastern 

night 
The victor bore away from shore and vanished out of 

sight. 

Hail to the great ship Chesapeake I Hail to the hero 

brave 
Who fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared 

her sudden grave ! 
And glory be to those that died, for all* eternity ; 
They lie apart at the mother-heart of God's eternal sea. 

Thomas Tracy Bouve. 
(By special permission of the author, and of The Youth's Co//ipanion.) 



12 



THE FIGHT OF THE ''ARMSTRONG" 
PRIVATEER 

Tell the story to your sons 

Of the gallant days of yore, 
When the brig of seven guns 
Fought the fleet of seven score, 
From the set of sun till morn, through the long Sep- 
tember night — 
Ninety men against two thousand, and the ninety won 
the fight 

In the harbor of Fayal the Azore. 

Three lofty British ships came a-sailing to Fayal: 
One was a line-of-battle ship, and two were frigates 
tall; 



44 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Nelson's valiant men of war, brave as Britons ever are, 
Manned the guns they served so well at Aboukir and 

Trafalgar. 
Lord Dundonald and his fleet at Jamaica far away 
Waited eager for their coming, fretted sore at their 

delay. 
There was loot for British valor on the Mississippi coast 
In the beauty and the booty that the Creole cities 

boast ; 
There were rebel knaves to swing, there were prisoners 

to bring 
Home in fetters to old England for the glory of the 

King! 

At the setting of the sun and the ebbing of the tide 

Came the great ships one by one, with their portals 
opened wide. 

And their cannon frowning down on the castle and the 
town 

And the privateer that lay close inside ; 

Came the eighteen- gun Carnation, and the Rota, forty- 
four. 

And the triple-decked Plant agenet 2iX\ Admiral's pennon 
bore ; 

And the privateer grew smaller as their topmasts 
towered taller, 

And she bent her springs and anchored by the castle 
on the shore. 

Spoke the noble Portuguese to the stranger: " Have 

no fear; 
They are neutral waters these, and your ship is sacred 

here 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 45 

As if fifty stout armadas stood to shelter you from 
harm, 

For the honor of the Briton will defend you from his 
arm." 

But the privateersman said, " Well we know the Eng- 
lishmen, 

And their faith is written red in the Dartmoor slaughter- 
pen. 

Come what fortune God may send, vv^e will fight them 
to the end. 

And the mercy of the sharks may spare us then." 

** Seize the pirate where she lies! " cried the English 

Admiral : 
" If the Portuguese protect her, all the worse for 

Portugal! " 
And four launches at his bidding leaped impatient for 

the fray, 
Speeding shoreward where the Armstrong, grim and 

dark and ready, lay. 
Twice she hailed and gave them warning; but the 

feeble menace scorning, 
On they came in splendid silence, till a cable's length 

away. 
Then the Yankee pivot spoke; Pico's thousand echoes 

woke; 
And four baffled, beaten launches drifted helpless on 

the bay. 

Then the wrath of Lloyd arose till the lion roared again. 
And he called out all his launches and he called five 

hundred men ; 
And he gave the word " No quarter! " and he sent 

them forth to smite. 



46 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Heaven help the foe before him when the Briton comes 
in might ! 

Heaven helped the little Armstrong in her hour of bit- 
ter need ; 

God Almighty nerved the heart and guided well the 
arm of Reid. 

Launches to port and starboard, launches forward and 

aft, 
Fourteen launches together striking the little craft. 
They hacked at the boarding-nettings, they swarmed 

above the rail; 
But the Long Tom roared from his pivot and the grape- 
shot fell like hail ; 
Pike and pistol and cutlass, and hearts that knew not 

fear, 
Bulwarks of brawn and mettle, guarded the privateer. 
And ever where fight was fiercest the form of Reid 

was seen : 
Ever where foes drew nearest, his quick sword fell be- 
tween. 

Once in the deadly strife 

The boarder's leader pressed 
Forward of all the rest 
Challenging life for life; 

But ere their blades had crossed 
A dying sailor tossed 
His pistol to Reid, and cried, 
Now riddle the lubber's hide! " 
But the privateersman laughed, and flung the weapon 

aside. 
And he drove his blade to the hilt, and the foeman 
gasped and died. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 47 

Then the boarders took to their launches, laden with 

hurt and dead, 
But little with glory burdened, and out of the battle 

fled. 

Now the tide was at flood again, and the night was 

almost done. 
When the sloop-of-war came up with her odds of two 

to one. 
And she opened fire ; but the Armstrong answered her, 

gun for gun. 
And the gay Carnation wilted in half an hour of sun. 

Then the Armstrong, looking seaward, saw the mighty 

seventy-four, 
With her triple tier of cannon, drawing slowly to the 

shore. 
And the dauntless captain said: " Take our wounded 

and our dead. 
Bear them tenderly to land, for the Armstrong' s days 

are o'er; 
But no foe shall tread her deck, and no flag above it 

wave — 
To the ship that saved our honor we will give a ship- 
man's grave." 
So they did as he commanded, and they bore their 

mates to land 
With the figurehead of Armstrong and the good sword 

in his hand. 
Then they turned the Long Tom downward, and they 

pierced her oaken side, 
And they cheered her, and they blessed her, and they 

sunk her in the tide. 



48 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Tell the story to your sons, 

When the haughty stranger boasts 
Of his mighty ships and guns 
And the muster of his hosts, 
How the word of God was witnessed in the gallant 

days of yore 
When the twenty fled from one ere the rising of the 
sun, 

In the harbor of Fayal the Azore! 

James Jeffrey Roche. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and 
Company.) 

13 

THE MEN OF THE ALAMO 

To Houston at Gonzales town, ride, Rangei", for your 

life. 
Nor stop to say good-by to-day to home, or child, or 

wife ; 
But pass the word from ranch to ranch, to every Texan 

sword, 
That fifty hundred Mexicans have crossed the Nueces 

ford. 
With Castrillon and perjured Cos, Sesma and Almonte, 
And Santa Anna ravenous for vengeance and for prey! 
They smite the land with fire and sword ; the grass 

shall never grow 
Where northward sweeps that locust horde on San 

Antonio ! 

Now who will bar the foeman's path, to gain a breath- 
ing space, 

Till Houston and his scattered men shall meet him 
face to face ? 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 49 

Who holds his life as less than naught when home and 

honor call, 
And counts the guerdon full and fair for liberty to fall ? 
Oh, who but Barrett Travis, the bravest of them all ! 
With seven score of riflemen to play the rancher's 

game, 
And feed a counter-fire to halt the sweeping prairie 

flame ; 
For Bowie of the broken blade is there to cheer them 

on, 
With Evans of Concepcion, who conquered Castrillon, 
And o'er their heads the Lone Star flag defiant floats 

on high, 
And no man thinks of yielding, and no man fears to die. 

But ere the siege is held a week a cry is heard without, 
A clash of arms, a rifle peal, the Ranger's ringing 

shout, 
And two-and-thirty beardless boys have bravely hewed 

their way 
To die with Travis if they must, to conquer if they 

may. 
Was ever valor held so cheap in Glory's mart before 
In all the days of chivalry, in all the deeds of war ? 
But once again the foemen gaze in wonderment and fear 
To see a stranger break their lines and hear the Texans 

cheer. 
God ! how they cheered to welcome him, those spent 

and starving men! 
For Davy Crockett by their side was worth an army 

then. 
The wounded ones forgot their wounds; the dying 

drew a breath 

4 



50 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

To hail the king of border men, then turned to laugh 

at death. 
For all knew Davy Crockett, blithe and generous as 

bold, 
And strong and rugged as the quartz that hides its 

heart of gold. 
His simple creed for word or deed true as the bullet sped, 
And rung the target straight: " Be sure you 're right, 

then go ahead! " 

And were they right who fought the fight for Texas 

by his side ? 
They questioned not; they faltered not; they only 

fought and died. 
Who hath an enemy like these, God's mercy slay him 

straight ! — 
A thousand Mexicans lay dead outside the convent 

gate, 
And half a thousand more must die before the fortress 

falls, 
And still the tide of war beats high around the 

leaguered walls. 
At last the bloody breach is won ; the weakened lines 

give way ; 
The wolves are swarming in the court ; the lions stand 

at bay. 
The leader meets them at the breach, and wins the 

soldier's prize; 
A foeman's bosom sheathes his sword when gallant 

Travis dies. 
Now let the victor feast at will until his crest be red — 
We may not know what raptures fill the vulture with 

the dead. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 5 I 

Let Santa Anna's valiant sword right bravely hew and 

hack 
The senseless corse; its hands are cold; they will not 

strike him back. 
Let Bowie die, but 'ware the hand that wields his 

deadly knife ; 
Four went to slay, and one comes back, so dear he 

sells his life. 
And last of all let Crockett fall, too proud to sue for 

grace, 
So grand in death the butcher dared not look upon his 

face. 

But far on San Jacinto's field the Texan toils are set, 
And Alamo's dread memory the Texan steel shall 

whet. 
And Fame shall tell their deeds who fell till all the 

years be run. 
" Thermopylae left one alive — the Alamo left none." 

James Jeffrey Roche. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and 
Company.) 

THE FIGHT AT THE SAN JACINTO 

" Now for a brisk and a cheerful fight! " 

Said Harman, big and droll, 
As he coaxed his flint and steel for a light, 

And puffed at his cold clay bowl ; 

For we are a skulking lot," says he, 
Of land-thieves hereabout. 
And the bold senores, two to one. 

Have come to smoke us out." 



52 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Santa Anna and Castrillon, 

Almonte brave and gay, 
Portilla red from Goliad, 

And Cos with his smart array. 
Dulces and cigaritos, 

And the light guitar, ting-tum ! 
Sant' Anna courts siesta — 

And Sam Houston taps his drum. 



The buck stands still in the timber — 
" Is it patter of nuts that fall ? " 

The foal of the wild mare whinnies^ — 
Did he hear the Comanche call ? " 

In the brake by the crawling bayou 
The slinking she-wolves howl. 

And the mustang's snort in the river sedge 
Has startled the paddling fowl. 

A soft low tap, and a muffled tap. 

And a roll not loud nor long — 
We would not break Sant' Anna's nap, 

Nor spoil Almonte's song. 
Saddles and knives and rifles! 

Lord ! but the men were glad 
When Deaf Smith muttered " Alamo! ** 

And Karnes hissed '* Goliad! " 



The drummer tucked his sticks in his belt, 
And the fifer gripped his gun. 

Oh, for one free, wild Texan yell, 
And we took the slope in a run ! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 53 

But never a shout nor a shot we spent, 
Nor an oath nor a prayer that day, 

Till we faced the bravos, eye to eye. 
And then we blazed away. 

Then we knew the rapture of Ben Milam, 

And the glory that Travis made, 
With Bowie's lunge and Crockett's shot, 

And Fannin's dancing blade; 
And the heart of the fio-hter, bounding; free 

In his joy so hot and mad — 
When Millard charged for Alamo, 

Lamar for Goliad. 

Deaf Smith rode Straight, with reeking spur. 

Into the shock and rout: 

I 've hacked and burned the bayou bridge, 

There 's no sneak's back-way out! " 
Muzzle or butt for Goliad, 

Pistol and blade and fist ! 
Oh, for the knife that never glanced, 

And the gun that never missed! 

Dulces and cigaritos. 

Song and the mandolin ! 
That gory swamp was a gruesome grove 

To dance fandangos in. 
We bridged the bog with the sprawling herd 

That fell in that frantic rout; 
We slew and slew till the sun set red. 

And the Texan star flashed out. 

John Williamson Palmer. 

(By special permission of the author, and of Herbert S. Stone and 
Company.) 



54 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

MONTEREY 

We were not many — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if he but could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on, still on, our column kept, 

Through walls of flame, its withering way; 
Where fell the dead the living stept. 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay, 
We swooped his flanking batteries past. 
And, braving full their murderous blast. 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 

Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play. 
Where orange boughs above their grave 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 55 

We are not many — we who pressed 
Beside the brave who fell that day ; 

But who of us has not confessed 

He 'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

Charles Fenno Hoffman. 

i6 
THE DEFENSE OF LAWRENCE 

All night upon the guarded hill, 

Until the stars were low, 
Vv^rapped round as with Jehovah's will, 

We waited for the foe ; 
All night the silent sentinels 

Moved by like gliding ghosts; 
All night the fancied warning bells 

Held all men to their posts. 

We heard the sleeping prairies breathe, 

The forest's human moans, 
The hungry gnashing of the teeth 

Of wolves on bleaching bones; 
We marked the roar of rushing fires. 

The neigh of frightened steeds, 
The voices as of far-off lyres 

Among the river reeds. 

We were but thirty-nine who lay 

Beside our rifles then; 
We were but thirty-nine, and they 

Were twenty hundred men. 



56 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Our lean limbs shook and reeled about, 
Our feet were gashed and bare, 

And all the breezes shredded out 
Our garments in the air. 



They came: the blessed Sabbath day, 

That soothed our swollen veins, 
Like God's sweet benediction, lay 

On all the singing plains; 
The valleys shouted to the sun, 

The great woods clapped their hands, 
And joy and glory seemed to run 

Like rivers through the lands. 

And then our daughters and our wives, 

And men whose heads were white, 
Rose sudden into kingly lives 

And walked forth to the fight ; 
And we drew aim along our guns 

And calmed our quickening breath, 
Then, as is meet for Freedom's sons, 

Shook loving hands with Death. 

And when three hundred of the foe 

Rode up in scorn and pride. 
Whoso had watched us then might know 

That God was on our side ; 
For all at once a mighty thrill 

Of grandeur through us swept. 
And strong and swiftly down the hill 

Like Gideons we leapt. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 5/ 

And all throughout that Sabbath day 

A wall of fire we stood, 
And held the baffled foe at bay, 

And streaked the ground with blood. 
And when the sun was very low 

They wheeled their stricken flanks, 
And passed on, wearily and slow, 

Beyond the river banks. 

Beneath the everlasting stars 

We bended child-like knees. 
And thanked God for the shining scars 

Of His large victories. 
And some, who lingered, said they heard 

Such wondrous music pass 
As though a seraph's voice had stirred 

The pulses of the grass. 

Richard Realf, 

(From Poems, by Richard Realf. Copyright, Funk and Wagnalls 
Company, 1898. By special permission.) 

17 

BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER 

Ebbed and flowed the muddy Pei-Ho by the Gulf of 
Pechi-Li, 
Near its waters swung the yellow dragon-flag; 
Past the batteries of China, looking westward we 
could see 
Lazy junks along the lazy river lag; 
Villagers in near-by Ta-Kou toiled ben^^ath their 
humble star, 
On the flats the ugly mud-fort lay and dreamed; 



58 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

While the Powhatan swung slowly at her station by 
the bar, 
While the Toey- Wan with Tattnall onward steamed. 

Lazy East and lazy river, fort of mud in lazy June, 
English gunboats through the waters slowly fare, 
With the dragon-flag scarce moving in the lazy after- 
noon 
O'er the mud-heap storing venom in the glare. 
We were on our way to Pekin, to the Son of Heaven's 
throne, 
White with peace was all our mission to his court ; 
Peaceful, too, the English vessels on the turbid waters 
strown. 
Seeking passage up to Pekin past the fort. 

By the bar lay half the English, while the rest with 
gallant Hope 
Wrestled with the slipping ebb-tide up the stream ; 
They had cleared the Chinese irons, reached the 
doubled chain and rope 
Where the ugly mud-fort scowled upon their beam \- — 
Crash! the heavens split asunder with the thunder of 
the fight 
As the hateful dragon made its faith a mock; 
Every cannon spat its perfidy, each casemate blazed 
its spite, 
Dashing down upon the English, shock on shock. 

In his courage Rason perished, bold McKenna fought 
and fell. 
Scores were dying as they 'd lived, like valiant men; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 59 

And the meteor flag that upward prayed to heaven 
from that hell 
Wept below for those who ne'er should weep again. 
Far away the English launches near the Powhatan 
swung slow, 
AH despairing, useless, out of reach of war, 
Saw their comrades in the battle, saw them reel be- 
neath the blow, 
. Lying helpless 'gainst the ebb-tide by the bar. 

On the Toey- Wan stood Tattnall, Stephen Trenchard 

at his side, — 

Old Man " Tattnall, he who dared at Vera Cruz, — 

Saw here, crippled by the cannon, saw there, throttled 

by the tide. 

Men of English blood and speech : Could he refuse ? 

I '11 be damned," says he to Trenchard, "if * Old ' 

Tattnall 's standing by 
Seeing white men butchered here by such a foe! 
Where 's my barge ? No side-arms, mind you ! See 
the English fight and die! 
Blood is thicker, sir, than water. Let us go! " 

Quick we man the barge, and quicker plunge into that 
devil's-brew — 
** An official call," and Tattnall went in state: 
Trenchard 's hurt, our flag in ribbons, and the lunging 
boat shot through, 
Hart, our coxswain, dies beneath the Chinese hate; 
But the cheers those English give us as we gain their 
Admiral's ship 
Make the shattered barge and weary arms seem 
light— 



6o BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Then the rare smile from " Old " Tattnall and Hope's 
hearty word and grip, 
Bleeding though he was, and brave in hell's despite. 

Tattnall nods and we go forward, find a gun no longer 
fought — 
What is peace to us, when all its crew lie dead ? 
One bright English lad brings powder and a wounded 
man brings shot, 
And we scotch that Chinese dragon, tail and head. 
Hands are shaken, faith is plighted, sounds our cap- 
tain's cheery call; 
In a borrowed boat we speed us fast and far, 
And the Toey-Wan and Tattnall down the ebb-tide 
slide and fall 
To the launches lying moaning by the bar. 

Eager for an English vengeance, battle light on every 
face. 
See, the Clustered Stars lead on the Triple Cross! 
Cheering, swinging into action, valiant Hope takes 
heart of grace 
From the cannons' cloudy roar, the lanyards' toss. 
How they fought, those fighting English! how they 
cheered the Toey- Wan, 
Cheered our sailors, cheered " Old " Tattnall, grim 
and gray ! 
And their cheers ring down the ages as they rang be- 
neath the sun 
O'er those bubbling, troubled waters far away. 

Ebbs and flows the muddy Pei-Ho by the Gulf of 
Pechi-Li, 
Idly floats beside the stream the dragon-flag ; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 6 1 

Past the batteries of China, looking westward still you 

see 

Lazy junks along the lazy river lag. 

Let the long, long years drop slowly on that lost and 

ancient land. 

Ever dear one scene to hearts of gallant men : 

There 's a hand-clasp and a heart-throb, there 's a 

word we understand — 

Blood is thicker, sir, than water," now as then. 

Wallace Rice. 
(By special permission of the author.) 

i8 
BETHEL 

We mustered at midnight, in darkness we formed, 
And the whisper went round of a fort to be stormed ; 
But no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we heard, 
And no voice of command but our colonel's low word — 
Column I Forzvard ! ' ' 

And out, through the mist and the murk of the morn, 
From the beaches of Hampton our barges were borne; 
And we heard not a sound save the sweep of the oar, 
Till the word of our colonel came up from the shore — 
' ' Column ! Forward I ' ' 

With hearts bounding bravely and eyes all alight. 

As ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night ; 

Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines over- 
arched. 

Tossing dew-drops like gems from our feet, as we 
marched — 

Column I Forward I ' * 



62 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

As ye dance with the damsels to viol and flute, 

So we skipped from the shadows and mocked their 

pursuit ; 
But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the 

morn, 
As we passed by the hayfields and green waving 

corn — 

* ' Column ! Forward ! ' ' 

For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June, 
And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in 

tune; 
And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb, 
That we heard our own heart-beats like taps of a 

drum — 

Column I Forward / " 

Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze, 
And the buskins of morn brushed the tops of the trees, 
And the glintings of glory that slid from her track 
By the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back — 
' ' Column ! Forward I ' ' 

And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist, 
And the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were 

kissed. 
And the earth gave her prayers to the sun in perfumes. 
Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on 

blooms — 

Column ! Forward ! ' ' 

Aye, trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet 

breath 
Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 63 

O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne hke a 

blast, 
And away to the forefront of battle we passed — 
Column I Forward ! ' ' 

For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from the 

glades, 
And the sun was like lightning on banners and blades, 
When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood, 
From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as 

blood — 

Column ! Foriuard ! ' ' 

While the sound of their song, like the surge of the 

seas. 
With the Star Spangled Banner swelled over the leas ; 
And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the way, 
Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day — 
Column ! Foriuard ! ' ' 

Through green-tasseled cornfields our columns were 

thrown, 
And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown ; 
While the cannon's fierce plowings new-furrowed the 

plain, 
That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain — 
Column I Forward I ' ' 

Oh, the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet flowers. 
But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like ours ! 
And the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the corn, 
Hath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel's red morn — 
Column I Forward I ' ' 



64 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

When our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and with 

breath 
Drank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in 

death; 
And the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute as his 

lyre, 
When the plumes of his genius lay moulting in fire — 
Column ! Forward I ' ' 

Where he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his name, 
And the grass where he slept shall be green as his fame ; 
For the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword 
Write his deeds, in his blood, on the land he adored — 
' * Colinnn I Forivard I ' ' 



And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air. 
And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory up- 
bear; 
While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves, 
With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the 
sheaves — 

Column I Forward I ' ' 

Augustine Joseph Hickey Duganne. 



19 
THE CHARGE BY THE FORD 

Eighty and nine, with their captain, 
Rode on the enemy's track. 

Rode in the gray of the morning — ■ 
Nine of the ninety came back. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 65 

Slow rose the mist from the liver, 

Lighter each moment the way; 
Careless and tearless and fearless 

Galloped they on to the fray. 

Singing in tune, how the scabbards 

Loud on the stirrup-irons rang! 
Clinked as the men rose in saddle, 

Fell, as they sank, with a clang. 

What is it moves by the river, 

Jaded, and weary, and weak ? 
Graybacks, — a cross on their banner, — 

Yonder the foe whom they seek. 

Silence! they see not, they hear not, 

Tarrying there by the marge ; 
Forivard ! draw sabre ! trot ! gallop ! 

Charge ! like a hurricane — Charge ! 

Ah, 't was a man-trap infernal! — 

Fire like the deep pit of hell! 
Volley on volley to meet them. 

Mixed with the gray rebels' yell. 

Ninety had ridden to battle, 

Tracing the enemy's track, — 
Ninety had ridden to battle; 

Nine of the ninety came back. 

Honor the name of the ninety! 

Honor the heroes who came 
Scathless from five hundred muskets, 

Safe from the lead-bearing flame! 



66 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Eighty and one of the troopers 
Lie on the field of the slain, — 

Lie on the red field of honor; 
Honor the nine who remain! 

Cold are the dead there, and gory, 

There where their life-blood was spilt ; 

Back come the living, each sabre 
Red from the point to the hilt. 

Up with three cheers and a " tiger! " 

Let the flags wave as they come ! 

Give them the blare of the trumpet! 

Give them the roll of the drum ! 

Thomas Dunn English. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 

20 

THE LITTLE DRUMMER 

'T IS of a little drummer, 

The story I shall tell ; 
Of how he marched to battle, 

Of all that there befell. 
Out in the west with Lyon 

(For once the name was true!) 
For whom the little drummer beat 

His rat-tat-too. 

Our army rose at midnight. 

Ten thousand men as one. 
Each slinging off his knapsack 

And snatching up his gun. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 6 J 

" Forward ! " and off they started, 

As all good soldiers do, 
When the little drummer beats for them 

The rat-tat-too. 

Across a rolling country, 

Where the mist began to rise; 
Past many a blackened farmhouse, 

Till the sun was in the skies; 
Then we met the rebel pickets, 

Who skirmished and withdrew. 
While the little drummer beat, and beat 

The rat-tat-too. 

Along the wooded hollows 

The line of battle ran, 
Our center poured a volley. 

And the fight at once began ; 
For the rebels answered shouting, 

And a shower of bullets flew ; 
But still the little drummer beat 

His rat-tat-too. 

He stood among his comrades, 

As they quickly formed the line, 
And when they raised their muskets 

He watched the barrels shine. 
When the volley rang, he started. 

For war to him was new ; 
But still the little drummer beat 

His rat-tat-too. 

It was a sight to see them, 
That early autumn day, 



6S BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Our soldiers in their blue coats, 
And the rebel ranks in gray; 

The smoke that rolled between them, 
The balls that whistled throup-h. 

And the little drummer as he beat 
His rat-tat-too ! 

His comrades dropped around him, — 

By fives and tens they fell, 
Some pierced by minie bullets, 

Some torn by shot and shell ; 
They played against our cannon, 

And a caisson's splinters flew; 
But still the little drummer beat 

His rat -tat -too I 

The right, the left, the center, — 

The fight was everywhere; 
They pushed us here, — we wavered, — = 

We drove and broke them there. 
The graybacks fixed their bayonets. 

And charged the coats of blue. 
But still the little drummer beat 

His rat-tat-too ! 

" Where is our little drummer ? " 

His nearest comrades say. 
When the dreadful fight is over. 

And the smoke has cleared away. 
As the rebel corps was scattering 

He urged them to pursue, 
So furiously he beat, and beat 

The rat-tat-too I 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 69 

He stood no more among them, 

For a bullet, as it sped, 
Had glanced and struck his ankle. 

And stretched him with the dead! 
He crawled behind a cannon, 

And pale and paler grew ; 
But still the little drummer beat 

His rat-tat-too I 

They bore him to the surgeon, 

A busy man was he : 

A drummer boy — what ails him ? " 

His comrades answered, '' See! " 
As they took him from the stretcher 

A heavy breath he drew. 
And his little fingers strove to beat 

The rat-tat-too ! 

The ball had spent its fury: 

" A scratch! " the surgeon said, 
As he wound the snowy bandage 

Which the lint was staining red. 

I must leave you now, old fellow! " 
Oh, take me back with you. 
For I know the men are missing me 

And the rat-tat-too ! " 

Upon his comrade's shoulder 

They lifted him so grand, 
With his dusty drum before him. 

And his drumsticks in his hand! 
To the fiery front of battle, 

That nearer, nearer drew, — 



70 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And evermore he beat, and beat 
His rat -tat -too ! 

The wounded as he passed them 

Looked up and gave a cheer; 
And one in dying blessed him, 

Between a smile and tear. 
And the graybacks — they are flying 

Before the coats of blue, 
For whom the little drummer beats 

His rat -tat -too. 

When the west was red with sunset, 

The last pursuit was o'er; 
Brave Lyon rode the foremost. 

And looked the name he bore. 
And before him on his saddle. 

As a weary child would do. 
Sat the little drummer, fast asleep, 

With his rat-tat-too. 

Richard Henry Stoddard. 
(By special permission of the author.) 



21 



THE CUMBERLAND 

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay. 

On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war; 
And at times from the fortress across the bay 
The alarum of drums swept past, 
Or a bugle blast 
From the camp on the shore. " 



IN TIME OF STRIFE /I 

Then far away to the south uprose 

A Httle feather of snow-white smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes 
Was steadily steering its course 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs, 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort; 
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, 
And leaps the terrible death, 
With fiery breath, 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but send her straight 

Defiance back in a full broadside! 
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 

Strike your flag! " the rebel cries. 
In his arrogant old plantation strain. 
Never! " our gallant Morris replies; 

" It is better to sink than to yield! " 

And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 

Then, like a kraken huge and black. 

She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! 
Down went the CiLviberland all a wrack, 
With a sudden shudder of death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 



yi BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, 

Still floated our flag at the mainmast head, 
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day ! 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer. 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho, brave hearts that went down in the seas! 

Ye are at peace in the troubled stream ; 
Ho, brave land, with hearts like these, 
Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again. 
And without a seam ! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

(B)' special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.) 

22 

JOHNSTON AT SHILOH 

A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER'S STORY 

'Mid dim and solemn forests, in the dawning chill and 
gfay, 

Over dank, unrustling leaves, or through stiff and 

sodden clay. 
With never a fife or bugle, or mutter of rumbling 

drum. 
With shivering forms and solemn souls the Southern 

soldiers come; 
Their long lines vanishing in mist as onward they are 

sweeping, 
With step as silent as the dawn's, to where the foe is 

sleeping. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 73 

A challenge! — " Halt!" — The expected shot, — and 
then a dozen more, 

Like pebbles pattering down the steep the avalanche 
before ; 

And then a rush, and then a yell, and then a blinding 
glare. 

And then a crash to lift the feet resounding every- 
where ! 

Now vanish chill and solemn thoughts, now burns the 
frenzied blood ; 

The tottering tents toss to and fro upon the driving 
flood. 

And the campfires flash and darken fast beneath the 
masses' tread — 

Now smoke behind in scattered brands 'mid wounded 
men and dead. 

And forward crowd the fugitives in panic-driven race; 

In vain in bush, ravine, and brake they hunt a hiding- 
place; 

For still that long line onward sweeps unbroken far 
and near. 

As War himself, with pinions bowed, were screaming 
in their rear. 

But far beyond the panic's reach the foe is forming 

fast, 
And in our path stands rank on rank of long battalions 

massed. 
Now, Southern soldiers, nerve your hearts and gather 

up your strength, 
The time of trial waited for is come to you at length! 
A hundred pieces open, and their shrieking missiles 

pour. 



74 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

While full ten thousand muskets flash and mingle in 

the roar, 
Till the cannon's boom is swallowed in the din of 

musketry, 
As the booming of the ocean when the thunders crash 

on high. 
But momently our laboring lines are charging o'er the 

field, 
And forcing back the stubborn ranks that only inches 

yield ; 
For at every fence they rally and oppose our surging 

flood. 
Till their dead lie heaped before us wherever they 

have stood. 
A Southern regiment there is matched against a full 

brigade. 
And not a hundred yards apart in open field arrayed; 
A brook half way between them through a copse of 

willows glides. 
There 's not a rock, fence, log, or tree to shelter ours 

besides. 
But stubbornly, undauntedly, with ne'er a cheer or 

shout. 
With hands too busy for their lips they deal their 

volleys out. 

Again the battle gathers strength on yonder wooded 

hill, 
Behind whose awful batteries fresh ranks are forming 

still; 
A reeking veil of undergrowth divides the hostile 

lines. 
But lurid through its tangled web the vivid lightning 

shines! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 75 

And so affrighting Death appears behind that dreadful 

pall, 
The stoutest spirit hesitates and flinches from his 

call. 
Now who will pierce that curtain dire and meet the 

battle's brunt. 
Before their armies gather there and burst upon our 

front ? 
Again the stern, portentous cry of ''bayonets" is 

heard, 
But not again the serried line springs forward at the 

word ; 
Behind the trees as skirmishers the cowering soldiers 

hide, 
And from afar the harmless trade of musket balls is 

plied. 
In vain, in vain their leaders shout, they cannot make 

them stir, 
But perish singly in the lead with scarce a follower! 

But hark, a sound of hoofs behind, a clang of sabres 

loud! 
I see a squad of mighty men go by me like a cloud! 
As the immortals rode to war when Hector fought for 

Troy, 
These ride, as if immortals, too, inspired with awful 

joy. 
Before them spurs their leader with a form that fills 

the air, 
So does his bearing fill their eyes, as if a god were 

there! 
Look how he goes to battle with a glory on his 

brow. 



^6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

As if prophetic Victory held laurels o'er it now! 
They are racing to the rescue : it is Johnston rides 

before ; 
God grant they be in time to turn the battle's tide 

once more! 
I hear their shoutings in the din; I hear the cries to 

" form," 
I see a stiffening battle-line take shape within the 

swarm ; 
And again the rank advances with an impetus of 

wrath, 
Their chieftain's rage in every heart impels them on 

their path. 
A thousand rifles leveled low, but every rifle dumb. 
The beating of a thousand feet upon a monster drum, 
A surging of the war cloud as they disappear beneath, 
A sickening of the spirit and a gasping of the breath; 
Redoubled din — a lull — a cheer; I would the smoke 

would go ! 
Oh, see our swooping battle flags! Oh, see the fleeing 

foe! 
Now glory to those gallant men ! and Father, to Thy 

hand 
To-morrow shall our praises ring throughout our 

stricken land ! 

But where is he who rallied them? 1 miss his" charger 

there ; 
I see him now 'midst yonder three whose saddles all 

are bare ; 
And two men staggering with a load this side of them 

I see; 
Oh, who is it they carry in their arms so tenderly ? 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 77 

They lay him gently on the leaves. Ah, well I know 

him now ! 
I know that lordly figure and that grand imperial 

brow! 
'T is he; but oh, how prostrate is that form which 

filled the air! 
And his the pallid face; but look, the glory still is 

there! 

Oh, ye daughters of Kentucky, ere your paeans are 

begun, 
Your lips shall falter when they tell how Shiloh's fight 

was won ! 
Your. hands shall weave the victor crown of laurels, 

but in vain; 
His marble brow shall never feel, nor pulse beat quick 

again. 
Oh, South, be sure a heart so pure had never loved so 

well! 
A country which had wronged him sore he pardoned 

ere he fell. 

Fleming James. 

23 

THE RIVER FIGHT 

Would you hear of the river fight ? 

It was two of a soft spring night ; 

God's stars looked down on all. 

And all was clear and bright 

But the low fog's chilling breath; — 

Up the River of Death 

Sailed the great Admiral, 



78 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVELiY 

On our high poop-deck he stood, 
And round him ranged the men 
Who have made their birthright good 
Of manhood once and again, — 
Lords of helm and of sail, 
Tried in tempest and gale. 



Who could fail with him ? 

Who reckon of life or limb ? 

Not a pulse but beat the higher! 

There had you seen, by the starlight dim. 

Five hundred faces strong and grim ; 

The Flag is going under fire! 

Right up by the fort 

With her helm hard aport, 

The Hartford is going under fire! 

First, as we answered their flash, 

'T was lightning and black eclipse, 

With a bellowing roll and crash. 

But soon upon either bow, 

What with forts and fire-rafts and ships, 

(The whole fleet was hard at it now, 

All pounding away!) and Porter 

Still thundering with shell and mortar, — 

'T was the mighty sound and form 

Of an equatorial storm. 

But, as we worked along higher. 
Just where the river enlarges, 
Down came a pyramid of fire, — 
It was one of your long coal barges. 
(We had oft had the like before!) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 79 

'T was coming down to larboard, 

Well in with the eastern shore. 

And our pilot, to let it pass round, 

(You may guess we never stopped to sound,) 

Giving us a rank sheer to starboard, 

Ran the Flag hard and fast aground! 



'T was nigh abreast of the upper fort, 

And straightway a rascal ram 

(She was shaped like the devil's dam !) 

Puffed away for us, with a snort. 

And shoved it, with spiteful strength, 

Right alongside of us, to port; — 

It was all of our ship's length, 

A huge crackling cradle of the pit, 

Pitch-pine knots to the brim. 

Belching flame red and grim; — 

What a roar came up from it ! 

In a twinkling the flames had risen 

Half way to the main-top and mizzen, 

Darting up the shrouds like snakes! 

Ah, how we clanked at the brakes! 

And the deep steam-pumps throbbed under, 

Sending a ceaseless flow; — 

Our top-men, a dauntless crowd. 

Swarmed in rigging and shroud ; — 

There, ('t was a wonder!) 

The burning ratlins and strands 

They quenched with their bare hard hands; 

But the great guns below 

Never silenced their thunder! 



80 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

At last, by backing and sounding, 
When we were clear of grounding, 
And under headway once more, 
The whole rebel fleet came rounding 
The point; — if we had it hot before, 
'T was now, from shore to shore. 
One long, loud thundering roar, — 
Such crashing, splintering, and pounding, 
And smashing as you never heard before ! 
For all above was battle, 
Broadside, and blaze, and rattle, 
Smoke and thunder alone! — 
(But, down in the sick-bay. 
Where our wounded and dying lay, 
There was scarce a sob or a moan.) 

And at last, when the dim day broke. 

And the sullen sun awoke. 

Drearily blinking 

O'er the haze and the cannon-smoke, 

That ever such morning dulls, 

There were thirteen hulls 

On fire and sinking! 

And on the dolorous strand, 

To greet the victor-brave. 

One flag did welcome wave. 

Raised, ah, me ! by a wretched hand, 

All outworn on our cruel land, 

The withered hand of a slave! 

'T is well to do and dare, — 
But ever may grateful prayer 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 8 1 

Follow, as aye it ought, 
When the good fight is fought, 
When the true deed is done ! 
Aloft in heaven's pure light, 
(Deep azure crossed on white) 
Our fair church-pennant waves 
O'er a thousand thankful braves. 
Bareheaded in God's bright sun. 

Henry Howard Brownell. 



24 

KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES 

So that soldierly legend is still on its journey, — 
That story of Kearny who knew not to yield ! 
'T was the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and 
Birney, 
Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. 
Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose 
highest. 
Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak 
and pine, 
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and 
nighest, — 
No charge like Phil Kearny's along the whole line. 

When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, 
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our 
ground, 

He rode down the length of the withering column. 
And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound ; 

6 



82 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder, — 

His sword waved us on and we answered the sign: 
Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the 
louder, 
" There 's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole 
line! " 

How he strode his brown steed ! How we saw his 
blade brighten 
In the one hand still left, — and the reins in his teeth ! 
He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten. 

But his soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. 
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal. 

Asking where to go in, — through the clearing or 
pine ? 
" Oh, anywhere ! Forward ! 'T is all the same, 
Colonel : 
You '11 find lovely fighting along the whole line! " 

Oh, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, 

That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried ! 
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, 
The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's 
pride! 
Yet we dream that he still, — in that shadowy region 
Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum- 
mer's sign, — 
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion. 
And the word still is '' Forward! " along the whole 
line. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 

(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and 
Company.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 83 

AN UNKNOWN HERO 

Sweet Malvern Hill is wreathed in flame, 

From serried ranks the steel is gleaming; 
Our legions march to death and fame, 

Their battle flags right wildly streaming. 
Each hero bares his manly breast. 

And gallant hearts are fiercely beating; 
With steady tramp they line the crest 

O'er which an iron hail is sleeting. 

Up loom, the bastions grim and large 

Through battle smoke that 's lowering near them ; 
The little drummers roll the charge, 

And dying comrades raise to cheer them. 
Twice forty guns with deadly aim 

Strike down our lines in tones of thunder; 
Yet still they press, with eyes aflame. 

Till Valor's self looks on in wonder. 

But now the human tide rolls back, 

A ghastly remnant grim and gory; 
And countless heroes mark the track 

Which led them up to heights of glory. 
But one still presses on amain 

Where double-shotted guns are frowning, 
Above, amidst the iron rain. 

He nobly wins a hero's crowning. 

Through all the battle smoke he 'd seen 

The saintly forms of angels bearing 
The laurel crowns forever green 

To wreathe the foreheads of the daring. 



84 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

And eager for his priceless crown, — 

The bastions scarce a length before him, — 

His stalwart form at length went down 
With Death and Honor bending o'er him. 

Brave soldier of the Southern clime, 

No stately song nor brilliant story 
Shall hand thy name to future time 

As one who gained immortal glory. 
But Freedom, with her mailed hand, 

Has paused to brush a tear of sorrow, 
And placed thee with that chosen band 

Who freely pour their lifeblood for her. 

And Valor, with her royal brow, 

And Honor, with her stately bearing. 
Have surely felt a prouder glow 

When musing on thy peerless daring. 
O gallant soldier, all unknown. 

Though noisy Fame, we know, shall never 
Proclaim thy deeds through every zone, 

A hero's crown is thine forever ! 

William Gordon McCabe. 

26 

BARBARA FRIETCHIE 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 85 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 

When Lee marched over the mountain wall, — 

Over the mountains, winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick to\vm. 

Forty flags with their silver stars. 
Forty flags with their crimson bars. 

Flapped in the morning wind; the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down; 

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall " Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

Halt! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast; 
Fire! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 



86 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVEI^Y 



It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; 



She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

" Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at the woman's deed and word: 

** Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet; 

All day long that free flag tossed 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 8/ 

Honor to her! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on " Stonewall's " bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. 
Flag of freedom and union, wave! 

Peace, and order, and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 

(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.) 

27 

THE EAGLE OF CORINTH 

Did you hear of the fight at Corinth, 

How we whipped out Price and Van Dorn ? 

A long and terrible day! 
And at last, when night grew gray. 
By the hundreds, there they lay, 
(Heavy sleepers, you 'd say,) 
That would n't wake on the morn. 

Our staff was bare of a flag, 
We did n't carry a rag 
In those brave marching days; — 
Ah, no, but a finer thing! 
With never a cord or string, 
An eagle of ruffled wing, 
And an eye of awful gaze. 



88 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

The grape it rattled like hail, 

The minies were dropping like rain, 

The first of a thunder shower; 

The wads were blowing like chaff, 

(There was pounding like floor and flail, 

All the front of our line !) 

So we stood it hour after hour; 

But our eagle, he felt fine! 

'T would have made you cheer and laugh. 

To see, through that iron gale. 

How the old fellow 'd swoop and sail 

Above the racket and roar, — 

To right and to left he 'd soar. 

But ever came back, without fail. 

And perched on his standard-staff. 

All that day, I tell you true, 

They had pressed us steady and fair. 

Till we fought in street and square, — 

(The affair, you might think, looked blue) 

But we knew we had them there! 

Our batteries were few, 

Every gun, they 'd have sworn, they knew, 

But, you see, there were one or two 

We had fixed for them, unaware. 

On they came in solid column, 

For once no whooping nor yell — ■ 

(Ah, I dare say they felt solemn!) 

Front and flank, grape and shell. 

Our batteries pounded away! 

And the minies hummed to remind *em 

They had started on no child's play ! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 

Steady they kept a-going, 
But a grim wake settled behind 'em 
From the edge of the abattis, 
(Where our dead and dying lay 
Under fence and fallen tree,) 
Up to Robinett, all the way 
The dreadful swath kept growing! 
'T was butternut mixed with gray. 

Ah, well — you know how it ended — 

We did for them, there and then. 

But their pluck throughout was splendid, 

They stood to the last like men. 

Red as blood, o'er the town, 

The angry sun went down. 

Firing flag-staff and vane ; 

And our eagle, — as for him. 

There, all ruffled and grim, 

He sat, o'erlooking the slain! 

'T is many a stormy day 

Since, out of the cold bleak north, 

Our great war-eagle sailed forth 

To swoop o'er battle and fray. 

Many and many a day 

O'er charge and storm hath he wheeled, 

Foray and foughten field, 

Tramp, and volley, and rattle! — 

Over crimson trench and turf. 

Over climbing clouds of surf, 

Through tempest and cannon-wrack, 

Have his terrible pinions whirled; — 

(A thousand fields of battle! 



90 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

A million leagues of foam !) 
But our bird shall yet come back, 
He shall soar to his eyrie-home, 
And his thunderous wings be furled, 
In the gaze of a gladdened world, 
On the nation's loftiest dome. 

Henry Howard Brownell. 

28 

READY 

Loaded with gallant soldiers, 

A boat shot in to the land, 
And lay at the right of Rodman's Point, 

With her keel upon the sand. 

Lighty, gaily they came to shore. 

And never a man afraid ; 
When suddenly the enemy opened fire 

From his deadly ambuscade. 

Each man fell flat on the bottom 
Of the boat ; and the captain said, 

" If we lie here we all are captured. 
And the first who moves is dead! " 

Then out spoke a negro sailor, — 

No slavish soul had he, — 
" Somebody 's got to die, boys, 

And it might as well be me! " 

Firmly he rose, and fearlessly 
Stepped out into the tide; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 9 1 

He pushed the vessel safely off, 
Then fell across her side ; — 

Fell, pierced by a dozen bullets, 

As the boat swung clear and free ; 
But there was n't a man of them that day 

Was fitter to die than he ! 

Phcebe Gary. 

(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.) 

29 

BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR 

Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe 

April day 
The Northmen's mailed " Invincibles " steamed up 

fair Charleston Bay ; 
They came in sullen file, and slow, low-breasted on the 

wave, 
Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the 



A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as these dread 
monsters drew 

More closely to the game of death across the breeze- 
less blue ; 

And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watch the 
scene afar 

Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle's broad- 
ening star. 

Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect 

stands. 
The ready linstocks firmly grasped in bold, untrem- 

bling hands; 



92 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

So moveless in their marble calm, their stern, heroic 

guise, 
They look like forms of statued stone with burning 

human eyes! 



Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rus- 
tling fold, 

Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight's ruddy 
gold ;— 

They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely 
echoing cheers. 

And then, once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait 
the grim cannoneers. 



Onward, in sullen file, and slow, low-glooming on the 

wave. 
Near, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the 

grave. 
When, shivering the portentous calm o'er startled 

flood and shore. 
Broke from the sacred Island Fort the thunder wrath 

of yore ! 



The storm has burst! and, while we speak, more 

furious, wilder, higher. 
Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of 

fire; 
The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems 

rent above — 
Fight on, O knightly gentlemen, for faith, and home, 

and love! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 93 

There 's not, in all that line of flame, one soul that 

v/ould not rise, 
To seize the victor's wreath of blood, though Death 

must give the prize; 
There 's not, in all this anxious crowd that throngs 

the ancient town, 
A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one 

foeman down ! 

The conflict deepens ! Ship by ship the proud Armada 

sweeps 
Where fierce from Sumter's raging breast the volleyed 

lightning leaps ; 
And ship by ship, raked, overborne, ere burned the 

sunset light. 

Crawls in the gloom of baffled hate beyond the field of 

fight ! 

Paul Hamilton Hayne. 

(By special permission of William Hamilton Hayne, and of The] 
Lothrop Publishing Company.) 

KEENAN'S CHARGE 

The sun had set; 

The leaves with dew were wet, — 

Down fell a bloody dusk 

Where "' Stonewall's " corps, like a beast of prey, 

Tore through with angry tusk. 

They 've trapped us, boys! " 
Rose from our flank a voice. 
With rush of steel and smoke 



94 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

On came the rebels straight, 
Eager as love, and wild as hate; 
And our line reeled and broke; 



Broke and fled. 

Not one stayed, — but the dead ! 

With curses, shrieks, and cries, 

Horses, and wagons, and men 

Tumbled back through the shuddering glen, 

And above us the fading skies. 

There 's some hope, still, — 
Those batteries parked on the hill ! 
" Battery, wheel " ('mid the roar). 
Pass pieces; fix prolonge to fire 
Retiring. Trot! " In the panic dire 
A bugle rings '* Trot! " — and no more. 

The horses plunged. 

The cannon lurched and lunged, 

To join the hopeless rout. 

But suddenly rose a form 

Calmly in front of the human storm. 

With a stern commanding shout: 

" Align those guns! " 

(We knew it was Pleasanton's.) 

The cannoneers bent to obey, 

And worked with a will at his word, 

And the black guns moved as if they had heard. 

But, ah, the dread delay! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 95 

** To wait is crime; 
O God, for ten minutes' time! " 
The general looked around. 
There Keenan sat, like a stone. 
With his three hundred horse alone. 
Less shaken than the ground. 

Major, your men ? " 
" Are soldiers, general." " Then, 
Charge, major! Do your best; 
Hold the enemy back, at all cost, 
Till my guns are placed ; — else the army is lost. 
You die to save the rest ! " 

By the shrouded gleam of the western skies 
Brave Keenan looked into Pleasanton's eyes 
For an instant, — clear, and cool, and still; 
Then, with a smile, he said: " I will." 

Cavalry, charge! " Not a man of them shrank. 
Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, 
Rose joyously, with a willing breath, — 
Rose like a greeting hail to death. 

Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed; 

Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed ; 

Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, 

In their faded coats of the blue and yellow; 

And above in the air, with an instinct true. 

Like a bird of war their pennon flew. 

With clank of scabbard, and thunder of steeds, 
And blades that shine like sunlit reeds. 
And strong brown faces bravely pale 
For fear their proud attempt shall fail, 



g6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Three hundred Pennsylvanians close 
On twice ten thousand gallant foes. 

Line after line the troopers came 

To the edge of the woods that was ringed with flame; 

Rode in, and sabred, and shot, — and fell; 

Nor came one back his wounds to tell. 

And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall, 

In the gloom like a martyr awaiting his fall. 

While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung 

Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung. 

Line after line, aye, whole platoons. 
Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons, 
By the maddened horses were onward borne, 
And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn ; 
As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. 
So they rode, till there were no more to ride. 

And over them, lying there shattered and mute, 
What deep echo rolls ? — 'T is a death-salute 
From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved 
Your fate not in vain ; the army was saved ! 

Over them now, — year following year, — 

Over their graves the pine cones fall. 

And the whippoorwill chants his spectre call; 

But they stir not again, they raise no cheer; 

They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease. 

Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. 

The rush of their charge is resounding still 

That saved the army at Chancellorsville. 

George Parsons LATHRor. 
(From Dreams and Days ; Copyright, 1892, Charles Scribner's Sons. 
By special permission.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 97 

THE HERO OF THE GUN 

The captain galloped to the front, 

The foam upon his rein ; 
And, as he urged his swerving steed 

Across a pile of slain, 

He hailed the gunner at his post: 
Ho, Fergus! pour your shell 
Straight in the face of yon stout line 
That holds the height so well, 

And never slack your raking fire — 
No, not to cool your gun; 
For if we break those stubborn ranks, 
I think the day is won." 

The gunner wiped his smoke-dimmed face — 

I '11 do the best I can. 
And down — brave fellows though they be — 
We '11 bring them to a man! " 

I '11 trust you for it! " — Like a flash 
The captain turned and wheeled. 
And with his sword above his head 
Dashed backward to the field. 

Fierce belched the cannon's ceaseless fire, 

With deadly crash and din; 
And, though the line still held the height, 

Its ranks began to thin. 



98 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

" Two rounds — and we will clear the hill! " 

But, as the gunner spoke, 
A sudden overwhelming storm 

Of bullets o'er him broke. 

And when the smoke had lifted, there 

Still straining all his powers, 
They heard him shout: " Two shots, my boys, 

And then the day is ours! 

" No matter if one arm be gone, 

I keep the other still; 
I promised I would do my best, 

And so you '11 see, I will! 

** Let me make trial while my strength 

Can do the duty set; 
I tell you that this strong left hand 

Is good for service yet ! " 

They primed the piece, and twice he sent. 

With all too deadly aim. 
The shells that mowed the broken line, 

And swept the hill with flame. 

" Where 's Fergus ? " — and the captain's horse 

Came spurring into sight — 
" Where 's Fergus ? let him take my thanks, — 

His fire has won the fight! " 

The dying gunner raised his head. 

His lips were faintly stirred — 
" Captain, I said I 'd do my best — 
And — I have kept my word! " 

Margaret Junkin Preston. 
(By special permission of Dr. George J. Preston.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 99 

AN INCIDENT OF WAR 

Our new flag-bearer, pale and slim, 

A beardless youth of quiet mien, 
Much chaffed at by the soldiers grim 

(Before in battle he had been), 
Hid the heroic fire in him. 

He sang old hymns, and prayed at night; 

A bad sign," quoth the sergeant bold; 
" Camp-meeting tunes before a fight 

Loosen a soldier's moral hold, 
And pluck beats prayer a mighty sight." 

The boy blushed red, but tenderly 

He to the sergeant turned, and said: 
** That God should mind me what am I ? 

And yet by Him my soul is fed — 
Send this to mother if I die." 

The sergeant, with a knowing look, 

And winking at the rest, replied : 
" Yes, son, I '11 give your Ma the book — " 

Just then a volley rattled wide, 
And one great gun the valley shook. 

The pale flag-bearer disappeared. 

" Gone to the rear," the sergeant said; 

Praying would make a Turk afeared ; 

Those lonesome tunes have turned his head — " 
And then the tide of battle neared. 



LofC. 



lOO BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

We formed in haste and dashed away, 
Across the field, our place to fill; 

At first a skirmish, then a spray 
Of cannon smoke upon a hill 

Flanked by long lines in close array. 

Down charged the foe ; Ave rushed to meet, 

We filled the valley like a sea; 
The cannons flashed a level sheet 

Of blinding flame, the musketry 
Cut men as sickles cut the wheat ! 

Oh, then we shouted! More and more 

The fervor of our courage rose. 
As through our solid columns tore 

The death hail's crashing, gusty blows, . 
And louder leaped the cannon roar! 

But how could human courage meet 
That icy flood ? All, all in vain 

Our counter-charge ; in slow retreat 
We crossed the tumbled heaps of slain, 

With grave-pits yawning at our feet! 

" Rally! For shame! " rang out a cry 
Forth from the thundering vortex cast ; 

A voice so steady, clear, and high, 
It sounded like a bugle-blast 

Blown from the lips of Victory. 

We paused, took hope, yelled loud, and so 
Renewed the charge, all as one man. 

Leaped where Death's waves had thickest flow, 
And felt the breath of horror fan 

Our naked souls as cold as snow! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE lOI 

The volleys quickened, coalesced, 

Rolled deep, rocked earth, and jarred the sky, 
When lo, our banner-bearer pressed 

His standard forward, held it high 
And rode upon the battle's crest! 

We saw him wave it over all ; 

Caught in the battle trough and dashed 
From side to side, it would not fall; 

But like a meteor danced and flashed 
And reveled in the sulphurous pall ! 

We swept the field and won the hill; 

Our flag flared out upon the crest, 
Where wavering, gasping, pale and chill, 

A dozen bullets through his breast. 
The slender hero held it still ! 

We leaped to lift his drooping head. 
The sergeant clasped him to his breast ; 
I bore the flag," the low voice said, 
*' And God bore me, now let me rest ; " 

And so we laid him with the dead. 

Maurice Thompson. 

(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and 
Company.) 

THE BLACK REGIMENT 

Dark as the clouds of even. 
Ranked in the western heaven. 
Waiting the breath that lifts 
All the dead mass, and drifts 



102 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land, — 
So still and orderly, 
Arm to arm, knee to knee. 
Waiting the great event, 
Stands the black regiment. 

Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam, and eyeballs shine; 
And the bright bayonet. 
Bristling and firmly set. 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Long ere the sharp command 
Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come. 
Told them what work was sent 
For the black regiment. 

** Now! " the flag-sergeant cried, 
" Though death and hell betide. 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, — ■ 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our cold chains again ! " 
Oh, what a shout there went 
From the black regiment ! 

** Charge! " trump and drum awoke; 
Onward the bondsmen broke; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE I03 

Through the wild battle's crush, 
With but one thought aflush, 
Driving their lords like chaff, 
In the gun's mouth they laugh; 
Or at the slippery brands, 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crushing steel, — 
All their eyes forward bent, 
Rushed the black regiment. 



" Freedom! " their battle-cry, — 
'' Freedom! or leave to die! " 
Ah, and they meant the word ! 
Not as with us 't is heard, — 
Not a mere party shout; 
They gave their spirits out. 
Trusting the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow. 
Whether for weal or woe; 
Glad to breathe one free breath. 
Though on the lips of death; 
Praying — alas, in vain ! — 
That they might fall again. 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty! 
This was what " freedom " lent 
To the black regiment. 



[04 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Hundreds on hundreds fell; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges, and shackles strong, 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few, 
Soldiers, be just and true! 
Hail them as comrades tried; 
Fight with them side by side; 
Never, in field or tent. 
Scorn the black regiment ! 

George Henry Boker. 



34 
GREENCASTLE JENNY 

Oh, Greencastle streets were a stream of steel 

With the slanted muskets the soldiers bore, 
And the scared earth muttered and shook to feel 

The tramp and the rumble of Longstreet's Corps; 
The bands were blaring The Bonny Blue Flag, 

And the banners borne were a motley many; 
And watching the gray column wind and drag 

Was a slip of a girl — we *11 call her Jenny. 

A slip of a girl — what needs her name ? — 

With her cheeks aflame and her lips aquiver, 
As she leaned and looked with a loyal shame 

On the steady flow of the steely river: 
Till a storm grew black in her hazel eyes 

Time had not tamed, nor a lover sighed for; 
And she ran and she girded her, apron-wise. 

With the flasf she loved and her brothers died for. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE I05 

Out of the doorway they saw her start 

(Pickett's Virginians were marching through), 
The hot little foolish hero-heart 

Armored with stars and the sacred blue. 
Clutching the folds of red and white 

Stood she and bearded those ranks of theirs, 
Shouting shrilly with all her might, 

" Come and take it, the man that dares! '* 

Pickett's Virginians were passing through; 

Supple as steel and brown as leather, 
Rusty and dusty of hat and shoe, 

Wonted to hunger and war and weather; 
Peerless, fearless, an army's flower! 

Sterner soldiers the world saw never. 
Marching lightly, that summer hour, 

To death and failure and fame forever. 

Rose from the rippling ranks a cheer; 

Pickett saluted, with bold eyes beaming. 
Sweeping his hat like a cavalier, 

With his tawny locks in the warm wind streaming. 
Fierce little Jenny! her courage fell. 

As the firm lines flickered with friendly laughter. 
And Greencastle streets gave back the yell 

That Gettysburg slopes gave back soon after. 

So they cheered for the flag they fought 

With the generous glow of the stubborn fighter. 

Loving the brave as the brave men ought, 
And never a finger Avas raised to fright her: 

So they marched, though they knew it not, 

Through the fresh green June to the shock infernal. 



I06 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

To the hell of the shell and the plunging shot, 

And the charge that has won them a name eternal. 

And she felt at last, as she hid her face, 

There had lain at the root of her childish daring 
A trust in the men of her own brave race, 

And a secret faith in the foe's forbearing. 
And she sobbed, till the roll of the rumbling gun 

And the swinging tramp of the marching men 
Were a memory only, and day was done, 

And the stars in the fold of the blue again. 

( TJiank God that the day of the sword is done^ 

And the stars in the fold of the blue again I ) 

Helen Gray Cone. 
(By special permission of the author.) 

35 
JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG 

Have you heard the story that gossips tell 

Of Burns of Gettysburg ?— No ? Ah, well, 

Brief is the glory the hero earns. 

Briefer the story of poor John Burns! 

He was the fellow who won renown, — 

The only man who did n't back down 

When the rebels rode through his native town : 

But held his own in the fight next day, 

When all his townsfolk ran away. 

That was in July, sixty-three. 

The very day that General Lee, 

Flower of Southern chivalry, 

BafBed and beaten, backward reeled 

From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 107 

I might te]l how, but the day before, 

John Burns stood at his cottage door, 

Looking down the village street. 

Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, 

He heard the low of his gathered kine, 

And felt their breath with incense sweet; 

Or I might say, when the sunset burned 

The old farm gable, he thought it turned 

The milk that fell in a babbling flood 

Into the milk-pail, red as blood ! 

Or how he fancied the hum of bees 

Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 

But all such fanciful thoughts as these 

Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 

Who minded only his own concerns, 

Troubled no more by fancies fine 

Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, — 

Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, 

Slow to argue, but quick to act. 

That was the reason, as some folks say, 

He fought so well on that terrible day. 

And it was terrible. On the right 
Raged for hours the heady fight, 
Thundered the battery's double bass, — 
Difficult music for men to face; 
While on the left — where now the graves 
Undulate like the living waves 
That all that day unceasing swept 
Up to the pits the rebels kept — 
Round shot plowed the upland glades. 
Sown with bullets, reaped with blades; 
Shattered fences here and there 



I08 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Tossed their splinters in the air; 

The very trees were stripped and bare; 

The barns that once held yellow grain 

Were heaped with harvests of the slain; 

The cattle bellowed on the plain, 

The turkeys screamed with might and main, 

And brooding barn-fowl left their rest 

With strange shells bursting in each nest. 

Just where the tide of battle turns, 

Erect and lonely stood old John Burns. 

How do you think the man was dressed ? 

He wore an ancient long buff vest 

Yellow as saf["ron, — but his best ; 

And, buttoned over his manly breast, 

Was a bright blue coat, with a rolling collar. 

And large gilt buttons, — size of a dollar, — 

With tails that the country-folk called " swaller." 

He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, 

White as the locks on which it sat. 

Never had such a sight been seen 

For forty years on the village green. 

Since old John Burns was a country beau, 

And went to the ** quiltings " long ago. 

Close at his elbows all that day, 

Veterans of the Peninsula, 

Sunburnt and bearded, charged away; 

And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — 

Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, — 

Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, 

Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; 

And hailed him, from out their youthful lore. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE IO9 

With scraps of a slangy repertoire : 

" How are you, White Hat! " " Put her through! " 

" Your head 's level," and " Bully for you! " 

Called him " Daddy," — begged he 'd disclose 

The name of the tailor who made his clothes, 

And what was the value he set on those; 

While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, 

Stood there picking the rebels off, — 

With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat, 

And swallow-tails they were laughing at. 



'T was but a moment, for that respect 
Which clothes all courage their voices checked ; 
And something the wildest could understand 
Spoke in the old man's strong right hand; 
And his corded throat, and the lurking frown 
Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown; 
Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 
Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 
In the antique vestments and long white hair. 
The Past of the Nation in battle there; 
And some of the soldiers since declare 
That the gleam of his old white hat afar. 
Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 
That day was their oriflamme of war. 

So raged the battle. You know the rest : 
How the rebels beaten and backward pressed, 
Broke at the final charge, and ran. 
At which John Burns — a practical man — 
Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows. 
And then went back to his bees and cows. 



no BALLADS OF A M ERICA N BRA VER Y 

That is the story of old John Burns; 

This is the moral the reader learns: 

In fighting the battle, the question 's whether 

You show a hat that 's white, or a feather! 

Bret Harte. 
(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.) 

HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG 

A CLOUD possessed the hollow field, 
The gathering battle's smoky shield. 
Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed. 
And through the cloud some horsemen dashed, 
And from the heights the thunder pealed. 

Then at the brief command of Lee 
Moved out that matchless infantry. 
With Pickett leading grandly down, 
To rush against the roaring crown 
Of those dread heights of destiny. 

Far heard above the angry guns 

A cry across the tumult runs,— 

The voice that rang through Shiloh's woods 

And Chickamauga's solitudes, 

The fierce South cheering on her sons! 

Ah, how the withering tempest blew 
Against the front of Pettigrew! 
A Kamsin wind that scorched and singed 
Like that infernal flame that fringed 
The British squares at Waterloo ! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE ill 

A thousand fell where Kemper led; 
A thousand died where Garnett bled: 
In blinding flame and strangling smoke 
The remnant through the batteries broke 
And crossed the works with Armistead. • 

" Once more in Glory's van with me! " 
Virginia cried to Tennessee: 
" We two together, come what may, 
Shall stand upon these works to-day! " 
(The reddest day in history.) 

Brave Tennessee ! In reckless way 
Virginia heard her comrade say: 
" Close round this rent and riddled rag! ** 
What time she set her battle-flag 
Amid the guns of Doubleday. 

But who shall break the guards that wait 
Before the awful face of Fate ? 
The tattered standards of the South 
Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, 
And all her hopes were desolate. 

In vain the Tennesseean set 
His breast against the bayonet! 
In vain Virginia charged and raged, 
A tigress in her wrath uncaged, 
Till all the hill was red and wet ! 

Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed, 
Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost 
Receding through the battle-cloud, 
And heard across the tempest loud 
The death-cry of a nation lost! 



112 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

The brave went down ! Without disgrace 
They leaped to Ruin's red embrace. 
They only heard Fame's thunders wake, 
And saw the dazzling sun-burst break 
In smiles on Glory's bloody face! 

They fell, who lifted up a hand 
And bade the sun in heaven to stand! 
They smote and fell, who set the bars 
Against the progress of the stars. 
And stayed the march of Motherland ! 

They stood, who saw the future come 

On through the fight's delirium! 

They smote and stood, who held the hope 

Of nations on that slippery slope 

Amid the cheers of Christendom! 



God lives! He forged the iron will 
That clutched and held that trembling hill. 
God lives and reigns! He built and lent 
The heights for Freedom's battlement 
Where floats her flag in triumph still! 



Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns! 
Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs, 
A mighty mother turns in tears 
The pages of her battle years. 
Lamenting all her fallen sons! 

Will Henry Thompson. 
(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.) 



JN TIME OF STRIFE II3 

37 
THOMAS AT CHICKAMAUGA 

It was that, fierce contested field when Chickamauga 

lay 
Beneath the wild tornado that swept her pride away ; 
Her dimpling dales and circling hills dyed crimson 

with the flood 
That had its sources in the springs that throb with 

human blood. 

Go say to General Hooker to reinforce his right ! ' ' 
Said Thomas to his aide-de-camp, when wildly went 

the fight; 
In front the battle thundered, it roared both right and 

left, 
But like a rock " Pap " Thomas stood upon the 

crested cleft. 

Where ivill I find yoUy General, zuhen I return ? *' The 

aide 
Leaned on his bridle rein to wait the answer Thomas 

made; 
The old chief like a lion turned, his pale lips set and 

sere, 
And shook his mane, and stamped his foot, and fiercely 

answered, '* Here ! " 

The floodtide of fraternal strife rolled upward to his 

feet, 
And like the breakers on the shore the thunderous 

clamors beat ; 



114 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

The sad earth rocked and reeled with woe, the wood- 
land shrieked in pain, 

And hill and vale were groaning with the burden of 
the slain. 

Who does not mind that sturdy form, that steady 

heart and hand. 
That calm repose and gallant mien, that courage high 

and grand? — 
O God, who givest nations men to meet their lofty 

needs. 
Vouchsafe another Thomas when our country prostrate 

bleeds! 

They fought with all the fortitude of earnest men and 

true — 
The men who wore the rebel gray, the men who wore 

the blue ; 
And those, they fought most valiantly for petty state 

and clan. 
And these, for truer Union and the brotherhood of 

man. 

They come, those hurling legions, with banners crim- 
son-splashed. 

Against our stubborn columns their rushing ranks are 
dashed. 

Till 'neath the blistering iron hail the shy and fright- 
ened deer 

Go scurrying from their forest haunts to plunge in 
wilder fear. 

Beyond, our lines are broken ; and now in frenzied rout 
The flower of the Cumberland has swiftly faced about; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE II5 

And horse and foot and color-guard are reeling, rear 

and van, 
And in the awful panic man forgets he is a man. 



Now Bragg, with pride exultant above our broken 

wings, 
The might of all his army against '* Pap " Thomas 

brings ; 
They 're massing to the right of him, they 're massing 

to the left. 
Ah, God be with our hero, who holds the crested cleft ! 



Blow, blow, ye echoing bugles ! give answer, screaming 

shell! 
Go, belch your murderous fury, ye batteries of hell! 
Ring out, O impious musket! spin on, O shattering 

shot, — 
Our smoke-encircled hero, he hears but heeds ye not! 

Now steady, men ! now steady ! make one more valiant 

stand, 
For gallant Steedman's coming, his forces well in hand ! 
Close up your shattered columns, take steady aim and 

true. 
The chief who loves you as his life will live or die with 

you ! 

By solid columns, on they come ; by columns they are 

hurled, 
As down the eddying rapids the storm-swept booms 

are whirled ; 



Il6 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

And when the ammunition fails — O moment drear and 

dread — 
The heroes load their blackened guns from rounds of 

soldiers dead. 



God never set His signet on the hearts of braver men, 
Or fixed the goal of victory on higher heights than 

then ; 
With bayonets and muskets clubbed, they close the 

rush and roar; 
Their stepping-stones to glory are their comrades gone 

before. 



O vanished majesty of days not all forgotten yet. 
We consecrate unto thy praise one hour of deep 

regret ; 
One hour to them whose days were years of glory that 

shall flood 
The Nation's sombre night of tears, of carnage, and of 

blood! 



O vanished majesty of days! Rise, type and mold 

to-day, 
And teach our sons to follow on where duty leads the 

way; 
That whatsoever trial comes, defying doubt and fear. 
They in the thickest fight shall stand and proudly 
answer, " Here I " 

Kate Brownlee Sherwood, 
(By special permission of the author.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 11/ 

THE SMALLEST OF THE DRUMS 

When the opulence of summer unto wood and mea- 
dow comes, 
And within the tangled graveyard riot old-time spice 
and bloom, 
Then dear Nature brings her tribute to '' the smallest 
of the drums," 
Spreads the sweetest of her blossoms on the little 
soldier's tomb. 

In the quiet country village, still they tell you how he 
died ; 
And the story moves you strangely, more than other 
tales of war. 
Thrice heroic seems the hero, if he be a child beside, 
And the wound that tears his bosom is more sad 
than others far. 

In the ranks of Sherman's army none so young and 
small as he, 
With his face so soft and dimpled, and his innocent 
blue eyes. 
Yet of all the Union drummers he could drum most 
skillfully, 
With a spirit — said his colonel — fit to make the dead 
arise! 

In the charge at Chickamauga (so, beside his little 
grave. 
You may learn the hero's story of some villager, 
perchance), 



Il8 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

When his regiment sank, broken, from the rampart, 
like a wave, 
Thrice the clangor of his drum-beat rallied to a fresh 
advance. 



There he stood upon the hillside, capless, with his shin- 
ing hair 
Blown about his childish forehead like the bright 
silk of the corn ; 
And the men looked up, and saw him standing brave 
and scathless there, 
As an angel on a hilltop, in the drifting mist of 
morn. 



Thrice they rallied at his drum-beat,— then the tattered 
flag went down ! 
Some one caught it, waved it skyward for a moment, 
and then fell. 
In the dust, and gore, and drabble, all the stars of 
freedom's crown. 
And the soldiers beaten backward from the emblem 
loved so well! 



Then our drummer boy, our hero, from his neck the 
drum-cord flung, 
And amid the hail of bullets to the fallen banner 
sped. 
Quick he raised it from dishonor; quick before them 
all he sprung, 
And in fearless, proud defiance, waved the old flag 
o'er his head ! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE II9 

For a minute's space the cheering, louder than the 
singing balls, 
And the soldiers pressing forward, closing up their 
broken line ! 
Then the child's bright head, death-stricken, on his 
throbbing bosom falls, 
And the brave eyes that God lighted cease with life 
and soul to shine. 

In the flag he saved they wrapped him ; in that starry 
shroud he lies, 
And the roses, and the lilacs, and the daisies seem 
to know; 
For in all that peaceful acre, sleeping 'neath the sum- 
mer skies, 
There is neither mound nor tablet that is wreathed 
and guarded so ! 

James Buckham. 
(By special permission of the author.) 

39 
LITTLE GIFFEN 

Out of the focal and foremost fire, 
Out of the hospital walls as dire; 
Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene, 
(Eighteenth battle, and lie sixteen!) 
Spectre, such as you seldom see! — 
Little Giffen of Tennessee! 

" Take him and welcome! " the surgeons said; 
Little the doctor can help the dead! 



120 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

So we took him ; and brought him where 
The balm was sweet in the summer air; 
And we laid him down on a wholesome bed — 
Utter Lazarus, heel to head! 

And we watched the war with bated breath, — 
Skeleton Boy against skeleton Death. 
Months of torture, how many such ? 
Weary weeks of the stick and crutch; 
And still a glint of the steel-blue eye 
Told of a spirit that wouldn't die, 

And didn't. Nay, more! in death's despite 
The crippled skeleton " learned to write," 
''Dear Mothei^'' at first, of course; and then 
''Dear Captain,'" inquiring about the men. 
Captain's answer: " Of eighty-and-five, 
Giffen and I are left alive." 

Word of gloom from the war, one day ; 

Johnson pressed at the front, they say. 

Little Giffen was up and away; 

A tear — his first — as he bade good-by, 

Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye. 

" I '11 write, if spared ! ' ' There was news of the fight ; 

But none of Giffen. — He did not write. 

I sometimes fancy that, were I king 

Of the princely Knights of the Golden Ring, 

With the song of the minstrel in mine ear, 

And the tender legend that trembles here, 

I 'd give the best on his bended knee. 

The whitest soul of my chivalry. 

For " Little Giffen " of Tennessee. 

Francis Orrery Ticknor. 
(By special permission of Mrs. Rosa N. Ticknor.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 121 

40 

ULRIC DAHLGREN 

A FLASH of light across the night, 

An eager face, an eye afire ! 
O lad so true, you yet may rue 

The courage of your deep desire! 

" Nay, tempt me not; the way is plain — 
'T is but the coward checks his rein ; 

For there they lie, 

And there they cry. 
For whose dear sake 't were joy to die! " 

He bends unto his saddlebow, 

The steeds they follow two and two ; 

Their flanks are wet with foam and sweat, 
Their rider's locks are damp with dew. 

" O comrades, haste! the way is long, 
The dirge it drowns the battle-song; 

The hunger preys. 

The famine slays, 
An awful horror veils our ways! " 

Beneath the pall of prison wall 

The rush of hoofs they seem to hear; 

From loathsome guise they lift their eyes. 
And beat their bars and bend their ear. 

Ah, God be thanked! our friends are nigh; 
He wills it not that thus we die; 

O fiends accurst 

Of Want and Thirst, 
Our comrades gather, — do your worst! " 



122 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

A sharp affright runs through the night, 
An ambush stirred, a column reined ; 

The hurrying steed has checked his speed, 
His smoking flanks are crimson stained. 

O noble son of noble sire. 

Thine ears are deaf to our desire ! 

O knightly grace 

Of valiant race, 
The grave is honor's trysting-place! 

O life so pure ! O faith so sure ! 

O heart so brave, and true, and strong! 
With tips of flame is writ your name, 

In annaled deed and storied song! 

It flares across the solemn night, 
It glitters in the radiant light ; 
A jewel set. 
Unnumbered yet, 
In our Republic's coronet! 

Kate Brownlee Sherwood. 
(By special permission of the author.) 



41 

FARRAGUT 

Farragut, Farragut, 
Old Heart of Oak, 

Daring Dave Farragut, 
Thunderbolt stroke. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 12^ 

Watches the hoary mist 

Lift from the bay, 
Till his flag, glory-kissed, 

Greets the young day. 

Far, by gray Morgan's walls, 

Looms the black fleet. 
Hark, deck to rampart calls 

With the drums' beat ! 
Buoy your chains overboard, 

While the steam hums; 
Men, to the battlement! 

Farragut comes. 

See, as the hurricane 

Hurtles in wrath 
Squadrons of clouds amain 

Back from its path. 
Back to the parapet. 

To the guns' lips, 
Thunderbolt Farragut 

Hurls the black ships! 

Now through the battle's roar 

Clear the boy sings, 

By the mark fathoms four," 

While the lead swings. 
Steady the wheelmen five 

*' Nor' by East keep her " ; 

Steady," but two alive: 

How the shells sweep her! 



124 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Lashed to the mast that sways 

Over red decks, 
Over the flame that plays 

Round the torn wrecks, 
Over the dying h'ps 

Framed for a cheer, 
Farragut leads his ships, 

Guides the line clear. 

On by heights cannon-browed, 

While the spars quiver; 
Onward still flames the cloud 

Where the hulks shiver. 
See, yon fort's star is set. 

Storm and fire past ! 
Cheer him, lads — Farragut 

Lashed to the mast ! 

Oh, while Atlantic's breast 

Bears a white sail. 
While the Gulf's towering crest 

Tops a green vale. 
Men thy bold deeds shall tell. 

Old Heart of Oak, 
Daring Dave Farragut, 

Thunderbolt stroke! 

William Tuckey Meredith, 
(By special permission of The Century Company.) 

42 

LEE TO THE REAR 

Dawn of a pleasant morning in May 

Broke through the Wilderness cool and gray. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 25 

While, perched in the tallest treetops, the birds 
e ca] 

Words. 



Were caroling Mendelssohn's " Songs without 



Far from the haunts of men remote, 
The brook brawled on with a liquid note, 
And nature, all tranquil and lovely, Avore 
The smile of spring, as in Eden of yore. 

Little by little as daylight increased, 

And deepened the roseate flush in the east, — 

Little by little did morning reveal 

Two long glittering lines of steel ; 

V/here two hundred thousand bayonets gleam, 
Tipped with light of the earliest beam, 
And the faces are sullen and grim to see, 
In the hostile armies of Grant and Lee. 

All of a sudden, ere rose the sun. 
Pealed on the silence the opening gun; 
A little white puff of smoke there came, 
And anon the valley was wreathed in flame. 

Down on the left of the rebel lines, 

Where a breastwork stands in a copse of pines, 

Before the rebels their ranks can form, 

The Yankees have carried the place by storm. 

Stars and Stripes o'er the salient wave. 

Where many a hero has found a grave ; 

And the gallant Confederates strive in vain 

The ground they have drenched with their blood to 



126 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Yet louder the thunder of battle roared; 
Yet a deadlier fire on their columns poured; 
Slaughter infernal rode with Despair, 
Furies twain, through the smoky air. 

Not far off, in the saddle there sat 
A gray-bearded man in a black slouch-hat; 
Not much moved by the fire was he, 
Calm and resolute Robert Lee. 

Quick and watchful, he kept his eye 
On two bold rebel brigades close by, — 
Reserves, that were standing (and dying) at ease, 
While the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees. 

For still with their loud, deep, bulldog bay, 
The Yankee batteries blazed away, 
And with every murderous second that sped 
A dozen brave fellows, alas, fell dead ! 

The grand old graybeard rode to the space 
Where Death and his victims stood face to face. 
And silently waved his old slouch-hat; 
A world of meaning there was in that! 

" Follow me! Steady! We '11 save the day! " 
This was what he seemed to say ; 
And to the light of his glorious eye 
The bold brigades thus made reply : — 

" We '11 go forward, but you must go back! " 
And they moved not an inch in the perilous track; 

Go to the rear, and we '11 send them to hell! " 
And the spund of the battle was lost in their yell, 



JN TIME OF STRIFE 12/ 

Turning his bridle, Robert Lee 
Rode to the rear. Like the waves of the sea, 
Bursting their dikes in their overflow. 
Madly his veterans dashed on the foe. 



And backward in terror that foe was driven, 
Their banners rent and their columns riven. 
Wherever the tide of battle rolled 
Over the Wilderness, wood and wold. 



Sunset out of a crimson sky 
Streamed o'er a field of ruddier dye, 
And the brook ran on with a purple stain 
From the blood of ten thousand foemen slain. 

Seasons have passed since that day and year; 
Again o'er its pebbles the brook runs clear. 
And the field in a richer green is dressed 
Where the dead of the terrible conflict rest. 

Hushed is the roll of the rebel drum, 

The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon dumb; 

And Fate, with pitiless hand, has furled 

The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world. 

But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides; 

And down into history grandly rides, 

Calm and unmoved as in battle he sat, 

The gray-bearded man in the black slouch-hat. 

John Randolph Thompson, 



128 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

43 

CRAVEN 

Over the turret, shut in his ironclad tower, 

Craven was conning his ship through smoke and 
flame; 

Gun to gun he had battered the fort for an hour, 
Now was the time for a charge to end the game. 

There lay the narrowing channel, smooth and grim, 
A hundred deaths beneath it, and never a sign; 

There lay the enemy's ships, and sink or swim 
The flag was flying, and he was head of the line. 

The fleet behind was jamming: the monitor hung 
Beating the stream; the roar for a moment hushed; 

Craven spoke to the pilot; slow she swung; 

Again he spoke, and right for the foe she rushed 

Into the narrowing channel, between the shore 

And the sunk torpedoes lying in treacherous rank; 

She turned but a yard too short; a muffled roar, 
A mountainous wave, and she rolled, righted, and 
sank. 

Over the manhole, up in the ironclad tower, 
Pilot and captain met as they turned to fly: 

The hundredth part of a moment seemed an hour, 
For one could pass to be saved, and one must die. 

They stood like men in a dream ; Craven spoke, — 
Spoke as he lived and fought, with a captain's pride : 
After you. Pilot." The pilot woke, 
Down the ladder he went, and Craven died. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 29 

All men praise the deed and the manner; but we — 
We set it apart from the pride that stoops to the 
proud, 
The strength that is supple to serve the strong and 
free, 
The grace of the empty hands and promises loud ; 

Sidney thirsting a humbler need to slake, 

Nelson waiting his turn for the surgeon's hand, 

Lucas crushed with chains for a comrade's sake, 
Outran! coveting right before command, 

These were paladins, these were Craven's peers, 

These with him shall be crowned in story and song. 
Crowned with the glitter of steel and the glimmer of 
tears, 
Princes of courtesy, merciful, proud, and strong. 

Henry Newbolt. 

(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company, and of 
John Lane.) 

44 
GRACIE OF ALABAMA 

On, sons of mighty stature, 

And souls that match the best! 
When nations name their Jewels 

Let Alabama rest. 

Gracie of Alabama ! 

'T was on that dreadful day 
When howling hounds were fiercest 

With Petersburg at bay. 



130 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Gracie of Alabama 

Walked down the lines with Lee, 
Marking through mists of gunshot 

The clouds of enemy. 

Thrice Alabama's warning 

Fell on a heedless ear, 
While the relentless lead-storm, 

Converging, hurtled near; 

Till, straight before his chieftain, 

Without a word or sign, 
He stood, a shield the grandest, 

Against the Union line. 

And then the glass was lowered, 

And voice that faltered not 
Said, in its measured cadence, 

" Why, Gracie, you '11 be shot! '* 

And Alabama answered, — 

The South will pardon me 
If the ball that goes through Gracie 
Comes short of Robert Lee! " 

Swept a swift flash of crimson 

Athwart the chieftain's cheek, 
And the eyes whose glance was knighthood 

Spake as no king could speak. 

And side by side with Gracie 

He turned from shot and flame, — 
Side by side with Gracie 

Up the grand aisle of Fame! 

Francis Orrery Ticknor. 
(By special permission of Mrs. Rosa N. Ticknor.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 131 

45 
THE BALLAD OF A LITTLE FUN 

I RODE a horse, a dappled bay, 

Coal-black his mane and tail, — 
A horse who never needed spur. 

Nor curb, nor martingale. 

And by my side three others rode, 
Sun-tanned, long-haired, and grim, 

Wild men led on by Edmondson, 
Jim Polk, you Ve heard of him. 

Behind us galloped, four by four, 

A swarthy, mottled band 
Of reckless fellows, chosen from 

The bravest in the land. 

Whither away on that fair day ? 

Oh, just a dash for fun. 
To speed our horses, and keep up 

With Jim Polk Edmondson. 

Behind our backs we left the hills; 

We crossed the Salliquoy; 
My right-hand comrade smiled and said, 
I fished here when a boy." 

Then from the rise at Hogan's house, 

I saw, as in a dream, 
Reed-fringed, and silver-blue, and deep, 

The Coosawattee gleam. 



32 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

A shot rang out ! A bullet split 

The air so close to me 
I felt the keen hot puff; and then 

A roar of musketry. 

A wind of lead blew from the wood ; 

We took it at a run: 
We sped so fast along the lane 

The worm-fence panels spun. 

A horse went down, a dying face 

Scowled darkly at the sky ; 
A bullet clipped my comrade's hat 

And lopped the brim awry. 

" Come, boys; come on ! " our leader cried. 

Pelimell we struck the line ; 
My comrade's pistol spat its balls, 

And likewise so did mine. 

A swirl of smoke, with rifts of fire. 

Enveloped friend and foe; 
Death, so embarrassed, hardly knew 

Which way his strokes must go. 

The fight closed in on every side, 
And tore one spot of ground; 

There was not room to swing an arm, 
Or turn your horse around. 

A moment thus, and then we broke 

The circle of our foes. 
Old Hogan, in his doorway, heard 

The crunching of our blows, 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 733 

The while we used our pistol-butts, 

As swords, on many a head ; 
And yet, and yet, down in that wood 

We left our leader, — dead. 

So, now you know just how it was 

We had our little fun, 
Speeding our horses to keep up 

With Jim Polk Edmondson. 

Maurice Thompson. 
(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.) 

46 

SHERIDAN'S RIDE 

Up from the south, at break of day, 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, 
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more. 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon's bar; 
And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold. 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
With Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 
A good broad highway leading down: 



134 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 
A steed as black as the steeds of night 
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight; 
As if he knew the terrible need. 
He stretched away with his utmost speed; 
Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, 
The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth, 
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls. 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 
And the landscape sped away behind 
Like an ocean flying before the wind; 
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 
But, lo, he is nearing his heart's desire! 
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 
With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the general saw were the groups 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; 

What was done ? what to do ? a glance told him both. 

Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 

He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, 

And the wave of retreat checked its course there because 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 35 

The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; 
By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, 
He seemed to the whole great army to say: 
" I have brought you Sheridan all the way 

From Winchester down to save the day." 

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! 

Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man! 

And when their statues are placed on high, 

Under the dome of the Union sky. 

The American soldier's Temple of Fame, 

There with the glorious general's name 

Be it said, in letters both bold and bright: 

Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight. 

From Winchester, — twenty miles away! " 

Thomas Buchanan Read, 
(By special permission of J. B. Lippincott Company.) 

47 
DOWN THE LITTLE BIG HORN 

Down the Little Big Horn, 

(O troop forlorn !) 

Right into the camp of the Sioux, 

(What was the muster ?) 

Two hundred and sixty-two 

Went into the fight with Custer, 

Went out of the fight with Custer, 

Went out at a breath. 

Staunch to the death! 



36 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Just from the canyon emerging, 

Saw they the braves of Sitting Bull surging, 

Two thousand and more, 

Painted and feathered, thirsting for gore, 

Did they shrink and turn back, 

(Hear how the rifles crack!) 

Did they pause for a life, 

For a sweetheart or wife ? 

And one in that savage throng, 

(His revenge had waited long,) 

Pomped with porcupine quills. 

His deerskins beaded and fringed. 

An eagle's plume in his long black hair, 

His tall lance fluttering in the air. 

Glanced at the circling hills — 

His cheeks flushed with a keen surmise, 

A demon's hate in his eyes 

Remembering the hour when he cringed, 

A prisoner thonged, 

Chief Rain-in-the-Face 

(There was a sachem wronged !) 

Saw his enemy's heart laid bare, 

Feasted in thought like a beast in his lair. 

Cavalry, cavalry, 

(Tramp of the hoof, champ of the bit,) 
Horses prancing, cavorting. 
Shying and snorting. 
Accoutrements rattling, 
(Children at home are prattling,) 
Gallantly, gallantly. 
Company dismount! " 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 37 

From the saddle they swing, 
With their steeds form a ring, 
(Hear how the bullets sing!) 
Who can their courage recount ? 

Do you blanch at their fate ? 

(Who would hesitate ?) 

Two hundred and sixty-two 

Immortals in blue, 

Standing shoulder to shoulder, 

Like some granite boulder 

You must blast to displace — 

(Were they of a valiant race ?) 

Two hundred and sixty-two, 

And never a man to say, 

" I rode with Custer that day." 

Give the savage his triumph and bluster, 

Give the hero to perish with Custer, 

To his God and his comrades true. 

Closing and closing. 

Nearer the redskins creep ; 

With cunning disposing. 

With yell and with whoop, 

(There are women shall weep !) 

They gather and swoop. 

They come like a flood, 

Maddened with blood. 

They shriek, plying the knife, 

(Was there one begged for his life ?) 

Where but a moment ago 

Stood serried and sternly the foe, 

Now fallen, mangled below. 



138 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Down the Little Big Horn, 

(Tramp of hoof, champ of the bit,) 

A single steed in the morn, 

Comanche, seven times hit, 

Comes to the river to drink; 

Lists for the sabre's clink, 

Lists for the voice of his master, 

(O glorious disaster!) 

Comes, sniffing the air, 

Gazing, lifts his head. 

But his master lies dead, 

(Who but the dead were there ?) 

But stay, what was the muster ? 

Two hundred and sixty-two 

(Two thousand and more the Sioux!) 

Went into the fight with Custer, 

Went out of the fight with Custer; 

For never a man can say, 

I rode with Custer that day — " 

Went out like a taper, 

Blown by a sudden vapor, 

Went out at a breath, 

True to the death! 

Francis Brooks. 
(By special permission of Dr, Almon Brooks.) 

48 

THE BOND OF BLOOD 

The words of a rebel old and battered, 
Who will care to remember them ? 

Under the Lost Flag, battle-tattered, 
I was a comrade of Allan Memm. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 39 

Who was Allan, that I should name him 

Bravest of all the brave who bled ? 
Why should a soldier's song proclaim him 

First of a hundred thousand dead ? 

An angel of battle, with fair hair curling 

By brown cheeks shrunken and wan with want; 

A living missile that Lee was hurling 
Straight on the iron front of Grant ; 

A war-child born of the Old South's passion, 

Trained in the camp of the cavaliers; 
A spirit wrought in the antique fashion 

Of Glory's martial morning years. 

His young wife's laugh and his baby's prattle 
He bore through the roar of the hungry guns — 

Through the yell of shell in the rage of battle, 
And the moan that under the thunder runs. 

His was the voice that cried the warning 
At the shattered gate of the slaughter-pen, 

When Hancock rushed in the gray of morning 
Over our doomed and desperate men. 

His was the hand that held the standard — 
A flaring torch on a crumbling shore — 

'Mid the billows of blue by the storm blown landward. 
And his call we heard through the ocean roar: 



fc)' 



Ere the flag should shrink to a lost hope's token, 
Ere the glow of its glory be low and dim. 

Ere its stars should fade and its bars be broken, 
Calling his comrades to come to him. 



I40 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And these, at the order of Hill or Gordon, — 
God keep their ashes! I knew them well, — 

Would have smashed the ranks of the devil's cordon, 
Or charged through the flames that roar in hell. 

But none could stand where the storm was beating, 

Never a comrade could reach his side; 
In the spume of flame where the tides were meeting, 

He, of a thousand, stood and died. 

And the foe, in the old heroic manner, 

Tenderly laid his form to rest. 
The splintered staff and the riddled banner 

Hiding the horror upon his breast. 

Gone is the cot in the Georgia wildwood. 

Gone is the blossom-strangled porch; 
The roof that sheltered a soldier's childhood 

Vainly pleaded with Sherman's torch. 

Gone are the years, and far and feeble 

Ever the old wild echoes die; 
Hark to the voice of a great, glad people 

Hailing the one flag under the sky! 

And the monstrous heart of the storm receding 

Fainter and farther throbs and jars; 
And the new storm bursts, and the brave are bleeding 

Under the cruel alien stars. 

And Allan's wife in the grave is lying 

Under the old scorched vine and pine, 
While Allan's child in the isles is dying 

Far on the foremost fighting line. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE I4I 

Cheer for the flag with the old stars spangled ! 

Shake out its folds to the wind's caress, 
Over the hearts by the war-hounds mangled, 

Down in the tangled Wilderness! 

To wave o'er the grave of the brave forever; 

For the Gray has sealed, in the bond of blood, 
His faith to the Blue, and the brave shall never 
Question the brave in the sight of God. 

Will Henry Thompson. 
(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.) 

49 
A BALLAD OF MANILA BAY 

Your threats how vain, Corregidor; 
Your rampired batteries, feared no more; 
Your frowning guard at Manila gate, — 
When our Captain went before! 

Lights out. Into the unknown gloom 
From the windy, glimmering, wide sea-room, 
Challenging fate in that dark strait 
We dared the hidden doom. 

But the death in the deep awoke not then ; 
Mine and torpedo they spoke not then ; 
From the heights that loomed on our passing line 
The thunders broke not then. 

Safe through the perilous dark we sped, 
Quiet each ship as the quiet dead. 
Till the guns of El Fraile roared — too late, 
And the steel prows forged ahead. 



142 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Mute each ship as the mute-mouth grave, 
A ghost leviathan cleaving the wave ; 
But deep in its heart the great fires throb, 
The travailing engines rave. 

The ponderous pistons urge like fate, 
The red-throat furnaces roar elate, 
And the sweating stokers stagger and swoon 
In a heat more fierce than hate. 

So through the dark we stole our way 
Past the grim warders and into the bay, 
Past Kalibuyo, and past Salinas, — 
And came at the break of day 

Where strong Cavite stood to oppose, — 
Where, from a sheen of silver and rose, 
A thronging of masts, a soaring of towers, 
The beautiful city arose. 

How fine and fair! But the shining air 
With a thousand shattered thunders there 
Flapped and reeled. For the fighting foe — 
We had caught him in his lair. 

Surprised, unready, his proud ships lay 
Idly at anchor in Bakor Bay: — 
Unready, surprised, but proudly bold, 

Which was ever the Spaniard's way. 

Then soon on his pride the dread doom fell, 
Red doom, — for the ruin of shot and shell 
Lit every vomiting, bursting hulk 
With a crimson reek of hell. 



IN TIME OF STRIFE I43 

But to the brave though beaten, hail! 
All hail to them that dare and fail! 
To the dauntless boat that charged our fleet 
And sank in the iron hail ! 

Manila Bay ! Manila Bay ! 
How proud the song on our lips to-day! 
A brave old song of the true and strong, 
And the will that has its way; 

Of the blood that told in the days of Drake 
When the fight was good for the fighting's sake! 
For the blood that fathered Farragut 

Is the blood that fathered Blake; 

And the pride of the blood will not be undone 
While war *s in the world and a fight to be won. 
For the master now, as the master of old, 
Is " the man behind the gun." 

The dominant blood that daunts the foe, 
That laughs at odds, and leaps to the blow, — 
It is Dewey's glory to-day, as Nelson's 
A hundred years ago! 

Charles George Douglas Roberts. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 

DEWEY AT MANILA 

'T WAS the very verge of May 

When the bold Olympia led 
Into Bocagrande gray 

Dewey's squadron, dark and dread, — 



144 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Creeping past Corregidor, 
Guardian of Manila's shore. 

Do they sleep who wait the fray ? 

Is the moon so dazzling bright 
That our cruisers' battle-gray 

Melts into the misty light ? . 
Ah ! the rockets flash and soar ! 
Wakes at last Corregidor! 

All too late their screaming shell 
Tears the silence with its track; 

This is but the gate of hell, 

We 've no leisure to turn back. 

Answer, Boston — then once more 

Slumber on, Corregidor! 

And as, like a slowing tide. 
Onward still the vessels creep, 

Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed, 
Orders — ** Let the gunners sleep; 

For we meet a foe at four 

Fiercer than Corregidor." 

Well they slept, for well they knew 
What the morrow taught us all — 

He was wise (as well as true) 
Thus upon the foe to fall. 

Long shall Spain the day deplore 

Dewey ran Corregidor. 

May is dancing into light 
As the Spanish Admiral 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 45 

From a dream of phantom fight 

Wakens at his sentry's call. 
Shall he leave Cavite's lee, 
Hunt the Yankee fleet at sea ? 

O Montojo, to thy deck, 

That to-day shall float its last ! 
Quick! To quarters! Yonder speck 

Grows a hull of portent vast. 
Hither, toward Cavite's lee 
Comes the Yankee hunting thee! 

Not for fear of hidden mine 

Halts our doughty Commodore, 

He, of old heroic line, 

Follows Farragut once more, 

Hazards all on victory, 

Here within Cavite's lee. 

If he loses, all is gone ; 

He will win because he must. 
And the shafts of yonder dawn 

Are not quicker than his thrust. , 
Soon, Montojo, he shall be 
With thee in Cavite's lee. 

Now, Manila, to the fray! 

Show the hated Yankee host 
This is not a holiday — 

Spanish blood is more than boast. 
Fleet and mine and battery. 
Crush him in Cavite's lee! 

Lo, hell's geysers at our fore 

Pierce the plotted path — in vain, 



146 BALLADS OF A AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Nerving every man the more 

With the memory of the Maine ! 
Now at last our guns are free 
. Here within Cavite's lee. 

Gridley," says the Commodore, 
You may fire when ready." Then 
Long and loud, like lions' roar 

When a rival dares the den, 
Breaks the awful cannonry 
Full across Cavite's lee. 

Who shall tell the daring tale 
Of Our Thunderbolt's attack, 

Finding, when the chart should fail, 
By the lead his dubious track. 

Five ships following faithfully 

Five times o'er Cavite's lee; 

Of our gunners' deadly aim ; 

Of the gallant foe and brave 
Who, unconquered, faced with flame. 

Seek the mercy of the wave — 
Choosing honor in the sea 
Underneath Cavite's lee! 

Let the meed the victors gain 
Be the measure of their task. 

Less of flinching, stouter strain. 
Fiercer combat — who could ask ? 

And " surrender " — 't was a word 

That Cavite ne'er had heard. 

Noon — the woful work is done! 
Not a Spanish ship remains; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 47 

But, of their eleven, none 

Ever was so truly Spain's! 
Which is prouder, they or we, 
Thinking of Cavite's lee ? 

Envoy 

But remember, when we 've ceased 

Giving praise and reckoning odds, 
Man shares courage with the beast. 

Wisdom Cometh from the gods. 
Who would win, on land or wave. 
Must be wise as well as brave. 

Robert Underwood Johnson. 
(By special permission of the author.) 

51 

THE MEN OF THE " MERRIMAC " 

Hail to Hobson ! hail to Hob son ! hail to all the valiant 

set I 
Clausen, Kelly, Deignan, Phillips, Murphy, Montagu, 

Charette I 
Howsoever we laud and laurel we shall be their debtors 

yet ! 
Shame upon us, shame upon us, should the nation e' er 

forget I 

Though the tale be worn with telling, let the daring 

deed be sung! 
Surely never brighter valor, since this wheeling world 

was young, 
Thrilled men's souls to more than wonder, till praise 

leaped from every tongue ! 



148 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Trapped at last the Spanish sea-fox in the hill-locked 

harbor lay ; 
Spake the Admiral from his flagship, rocking off the 

hidden bay, 
*' We must close yon open portal lest he slip by night 

away ! ' ' 

" Volunteers! " the signal lifted ; rippling through the 

fleet it ran ; 
Was there ever deadlier venture ? was there ever bolder 

plan ? 
Yet the gallant sailors answered, answered wellnigh to 

a man ! 

Ere the dawn's first rose-flush kindled, swiftly sped the 

chosen eight 
Toward the batteries grimly frowning o'er the harbor's 

narrow gate ; 
Sooth, he holds his life but lightly who thus gives the 

dare to Fate ! 

They had passed the outer portal where the guns 

grinned, tier o'er tier. 
When portentous Morro thundered, and Socapa 

echoed clear, 
And Estrella joined a chorus pandemoniac to hear. 

Heroes without hands to waver, heroes without hearts 

to quail, 
There they sank the bulky collier 'mid the hurtling 

Spanish hail; 
Long shall float our starry banner if such lads beneath 

it sail! 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 49 

Hail to Hobson ! hail to Hobson I hail to all the valiant 

set I 
Clausen, Kelly, Deignan, Phillips, Murphy, Montagu^ 

Cliai'ette ! 
Howsoe' er we laud and laurel we shall be their debtors 

yet ! 

Shame upon us, shame upon us, should the nation e' er 

forget I 

Clinton Scollard. 

THE CHARGE AT SANTIAGO 

With shot and shell, like a loosened hell, 

Smiting them left and right, 
They rise or fall on the sloping wall 

Of beetling bush and height! 
They do not shrink at the awful brink 

Of the rifle's hurtling breath, 
But onward press, as their ranks grow less, 

To the open arms of death ! 

Through a storm of lead, o'er maimed and dead, 

Onward and up they go. 
Till hand to hand the unflinching band 

Grapple the stubborn foe. 
O'er men that reel, 'mid glint of steel. 

Bellow or boom of gun, 
They leap and shout over each redoubt 

Till the final trench is won ! 

O charge sublime! Over dust and grime 
Each hero hurls his name 



150 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

In shot or shell, like a molten hell, 
To the topmost heights of fame ! 
And prone or stiff, under bush and cliff, 

Wounded or dead men lie, 
While the tropic sun on a grand deed done 
Looks with his piercing eye! 

William Hamilton Hayne. 
(By special permission of the author.) 

53 
SPAIN'S LAST ARMADA 

They fling their flags upon the morn, 
Their safety 's held a thing for scorn, 
As to the fray the Spaniards on the wings of war are 
borne; 

Their sullen smoke-clouds writhe and reel, 
And sullen are their ships of steel, 
All ready, cannon, lanyards, from the fighting-tops to 
keel. 

They cast upon the golden air 

One glancing, helpless, hopeless prayer, 
To ask that swift and thorough be the victory falling 
there; 

Then giants with a cheer and sigh 

Burst forth to battle and to die 
Beneath the walls of Morro on that morning in July. 

The Teresa heads the haughty train. 
To bear the Admiral of Spain, 
She rushes, hurtling, whitening, like the summer hur- 
ricane ; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 15I 

El Morro glowers in his might ; 
Socapa crimsons with the fight; 
The Oquendo' s lunging lightning blazes through her 
somber night. 

In desperate and eager dash 

The Vizcaya hurls her vivid flash, 
As wild upon the waters her enormous batteries crash ; 

Like spindrift scuds the fleet Colon, 

And, on her bubbling wake bestrown, 
Lurch, hungry for the slaughter, El Furor and El 
Pluton. 

Round Santiago's armored crest. 
Serene, in their gray valor dressed. 
Our behemoths lie quiet, watching well from south 
and west ; 

Their keen eyes spy the harbor-reek; 
The signals dance, the signals speak; 
Then breaks the blasting riot as our broadsides storm 
and shriek! 

Quick, poising on her eagle-wings, 

The Brooklyn into battle swings; 
The wide sea falls and wonders as the titan Texas 
springs; 

The lozua in monster-leaps 

Goes bellowing above the deeps; 
The Indiana thunders as her terror onward sweeps. 

And, hovering near and hovering low 
Until the moment strikes to go, 
In gallantry the Gloucester swoops down on her double 
foe; 



152 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

She volleys — the Furor falls lame; 
Again — and the Phitori 's aflame ; 
Hurrah, on high she 's tossed her! Gone the grim 
destroyers' fame ! 

And louder yet and louder roar 

The Oregon' s black cannon o'er 
The clangor and the booming all along the Cuban 
shore. 

She 's swifting down her valkyr-path, 

Her sword sharp for the aftermath, 
With levin in her glooming, like Jehovah in His wrath. 

Great ensigns snap and shine in air 
Above the furious onslaught where 
Our sailors cheer the battle, danger but a thing to 
dare ; 

Our gunners speed, as oft they 've sped, 
Their hail of shrilling, shattering lead, 
Swift-sure our rifles rattle, and the foeman's decks are 
red. 

Like baying bloodhounds lope our ships, 
Adrip with fire their cannons' lips; 
y/e scourge the fleeing Spanish, whistling weals from 
scorpion-whips ; 

Till, livid in the ghastly glare. 
They tremble on in dread despair. 
And thoughts of victory vanish in the carnage they 
must bear. 

Where Cuban coasts in beauty bloom, 
Where Cuban breakers swirl and boom, 
The Teresa s onset slackens in a scarlet spray of doom ; 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 53 

Near Nimanima's greening hill 
The streaming flames cry down her will, 
Her vast hull blows and blackens, prey to every mortal 

ill. 

On Juan Gonzales' foaming strand 
The Oqtiendo plunges 'neath our hand, 

Her armaments all strangled, and her hope a shower- 
ing brand ; 

She strikes and grinds upon the reef, 
And, shuddering there in utter grief, 

In misery and mangled, wastes away beside her chief. 

The Vizcaya nevermore shall ride 

From out Aserradero's tide. 
With hate upon her forehead ne'er again she '11 pass in 
pride ; 

Beneath our fearful battle-spell 

She moaned and struggled, flared and fell. 
To lie agleam and horrid, while the piling fires swell. 

Thence from the wreck of Spain alone 
Tears on the terrified Colon, 
In bitter anguish crying, like a storm-bird forth she 's 
flown ; 

Her throbbing engines creak and thrum; 
She sees abeam the Brooklyn come. 
For life she 's gasping, flying; for the combat is she 
dumb. 

Till then the man behind the gun 
Had wrought whatever must be done — 
Here, now, beside our boilers is the fight fought out 
and won ; 



154 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Where great machines pulse on and beat, 
A-swelter in the humming heat 
The Nation's nameless toilers make her mastery com- 
plete. 

The Cape o' the Cross casts out a stone 
Against the course of the Colon, 
Despairing and inglorious on the wind her white flag 's 
thrown ; 

Spain's last Armada, lost and wan, 
Lies where Tarquino's stream rolls on, 
As round the world, victorious, looms the dread- 
nought Oregon. 

The sparkling daybeams softly flow 
To glint the twilight afterglow. 
The banner sinks in splendor that in battle ne'er was 
low; 

The music of our country's hymn 
Rings out like song of seraphim, 
Fond memories and tender fill the evening fair and 
dim ; 

Our huge ships ride in majesty 
Unchallenged o'er the glittering sea, 
Above them white stars cluster, mighty emblem of the 
free; 

And all adown the long sea-lane 
The fitful bale-fires wax and wane 
To shed their lurid lustre on the empire that was 
Spain. 

Wallace Rice. 
(By special permission of the author.) 



IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 55 

54 

BALLAD OF PACO TOWN 

In Paco town and in Paco tower, 
At the height of the tropic noonday hour, 
Some Tagal riflemen, half a score, 
Watched the length of the highway o'er, 
And when to the front the troopers spurred, 
Whiz-z ! whiz-z ! how the Mausers whirred ! 

From the opposite walls, through crevice and crack, 
Volley on volley went ringing back 
Where a band of regulars tried to drive 
The stinging rebels out of their hive; 

Wait till our cannon come, and then," 
Cried a captain, striding among his men, 

We '11 settle that bothersome buzz and drone 
With a merry little tune of our own ! " 

The sweltering breezes seemed to swoon. 

And down the calle the thickening flames 

Licked the roofs in the tropic noon. 

Then through the crackle and glare and heat, 

And the smoke and the answering acclaims 

Of the rifles, far up the village street 

Was heard the clatter of horses' feet, 

And a band of signal-men swung in sight. 

Hasting back from the ebbing fight 

That had swept away to the left and right., 

** Ride! " yelled the regulars, all aghast. 
And over the heads of the signal-men. 
As they whirled in desperate gallop past. 



156 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

The bullets a vicious music made, 
Like the whistle and whine of the midnight blast 
On the weltering wastes of the ocean when 
The breast of the deep is scourged and flayed. 

It chanced in the line of the fiercest fire 

A rebel bullet had clipped the wire 

That led, from the front and the fighting, down 

To those that stayed in Manila town ; 

This gap arrested the watchful eye 

Of one of the signal-men galloping by, 

And straightway, out of the plunge and press, 

He reined his horse with a swift caress 

And a word in the ear of the rushing steed ; 

Then back with never a halt nor heed 

Of the swarming bullets he rode, his goal 

The parted wire and the slender pole 

That stood where the deadly tower looked down 

On the rack and ruin of Paco town. 

Out of his saddle he sprang as gay 
As a schoolboy taking a holiday; 
Wire in hand up the pole he went 
With never a glance at the tower, intent 
Only on that which he saw appear 
As the line of his duty plain and clear. 
To the very crest he climbed, and there, 
While the bullets buzzed in the scorching air, 
Clipped his clothing, and scored and stung 
The slender pole-top to which he clung, 
Made the wire that was severed sound, 
Slipped in his careless way to the ground. 
Sprang to the back of his horse, and then 
Was off, this bravest of sio-nal-men. 



■IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 57 

Cheers for the hero! While such as he, 
Heedless alike of wounds and scars, 
Fight for the dear old Stripes and Stars, 
Down through the years to us shall be 
Ever and ever the victory ! 

Clinton Scollard. 



Hn ^ime of IPeace 



159 



IN TIME OF PEACE 



55 
PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES 

All sobbing, shrieking, swirls the gale, 

December in its sweep. 
Till ocean's hoary face is pale 

With foam, abysses deep; 
Then see within the furious spray 
A ship against the gray ! 

The sirens sing by George's shoal 

And lure their victim in, 
So the Lord Goiigh, through surge and roll. 

The dismal drift and din. 
Comes round to where the breakers comb 
Into sheer, wind-swept foam. 

They see, half-way the shattered mast, 
The Stars and Stripes stand out; 

They hear, above the howling blast. 
Old Hughes, with mighty shout, 
Now, boys, three hearty English cheers! 

Come forward, volunteers! " 

II 

i6i 



1 62 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

They man their boat, these gallant tars, 
Though skies beat down the sea — 

When falls the flag with all its stars. 
Then to the masthead free 

Runs up, the blue above, to swear, 

" For us Fate still is fair! " 

In frosty blasts that seek to blow 
Their valor from the helm. 

They row as they would have you row 
When billows overwhelm : 

The baffled storm its witness bears — 

The Cleopatra 's theirs! 

He thaws the winter from his bone. 
He mourns the ship so gone, 

And Pendleton tells great gales blown. 
Despair since drifting dawn ; 

Water-logged, with his boats stove in, 

W^hat hope was his to win ? 

He saw the sailors on the Gough — 
Death stood before his eyes, 

He knew they would be putting off 
Where seas beat back the skies ; 

His flag free on the tempest flew 

Lest they should perish too. . . , 

While Englishmen in mercy go 
Cheering, to war with Death, 

While the Americans can throw 
Off hope, for others' breath, 

A tyrant Fate need slink afraid, 

From clear eyes, undismayed. 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 63 

And oh, ye folk of English speech, 

When such a brood ye 've borne, 
What favor need ye e'er beseech 

From Fate so ripe for scorn ? 
'T is yours, ye freemen, by your birth, 
All that ye will on earth ! 



Wallace Rice. 



(By special permission of the author.) 



56 

IN THE TUNNEL 

Did n't know Flynn, — 

Flynn of Virginia, — 
Long as he 's been 'yar ? 
Look 'ee here, stranger, 
Whar hev you been ? 

Here in this tunnel 
He was my pardner, 

That same Tom Flynn, — 
Working together, 
In wind and weather, 

Day out and in. 

Did n't know Flynn! 
Well, that is queer ; 

Why, it 's a sin 

To think of Tom Flynn,— 
Tom with his cheer, 
Tom without fear, — 

Stranger, look 'yar! 



164 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Thar in the drift, 

Back to the wall, 
He held the timbers 

Ready to fall; 

Then in the darkness 
I heard him call: 

** Run for your life, Jake! 

Run for your wife's sake! 

Don't wait for me." 
And that was all 

Heard in the din, 

Heard of Tom Flynn, — 
Flynn of Virginia. 

That 's all about 

Flynn of Virginia. 
That lets me out. 

Here in the damp, — 
Out of the sun, — 

That 'ar derned lamp 
Makes my eyes run. 
Well, there, — I 'm done! 

But, sir, when you '11 
Hear the next fool 

Asking of Flynn, — 
Flynn of Virginia, — 
Just you chip in, 
Say you knew Flynn; 
Say that you 've been 'yar. 

Bret Harte, 
(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.) 



IN TIME OF PEACE 165 

57 

THE BALLAD OF CALNAN'S CHRISTMAS 

When you hear the fire-gongs beat fierce along the 
startled street, 
See the great-limbed horses bound, and the gleam- 
ing engine sway. 
And the driver in his place, with his fixed, heroic face, 
Say a prayer for Calnan's sake — he that died on 
Christmas day! 

Cling! Cling! Each to his station! 
Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way! 

(Christ keep the soldiers of salvation. 
Fighting nameless battles in the war of every 
day!) 

In the morning, blue and mild, of the Mother and the 
Child, 
While the blessed bells were calling, thrilled the 
summons through the wire; 
In the morning, blue and mild, for a woman and a 
child 
Died a man of gentle will, plunging on to fight the 
fire. 

Ring, swing, bells in the steeple! 
Ring the Child and ring the Star, as sweetly as ye 
may! 
Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people 
God's good will to earthly men, the men of every 
day! 



l66 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

" Thirty-four " swung out agleam, with her mighty, 
bounding team ; 
Horses' honor pricked them on, and they leaped as 
at a goad ; 
Jimmy Calnan in his place, with his clean-cut Irish 
face, 
Iron hands upon the reins, eyes a-strain upon the 
road. 



Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way ! 
(Sweetly rang, above the clang, the bells of 
Christmas day.) 



Tearing, plunging through the din, scarce a man could 
hold them in ; 
None on earth could pull them short : Mary Mother, 
guide from harm 
Yonder woman straight ahead, stony still with sudden 
dread, 
And the little woman-child, with her waxen child 
in arm ! 



Oh, God's calls, how swift they are! Oh, the Cross 
that hides the Star! 
Oh, the fire-gong beating fierce through the bells of 
Christmas day ! 
Just a second there to choose, and a life to keep or 
lose — 
To the curb he swung the horses, and he flung his 
life away! 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 6/ 

Ring, swing, bells in the steeple! 
Ring the Star and ring the Cross, for Star and 
Cross are one ! 
Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people 
God is pleased with manly men, and the deeds 
that they have done ! 

Helen Gray Cone, 
(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.) 

HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S 

It was long ago it happened, ere ever the signal gun 
That blazed above Fort Sumter had wakened the 

North as one; 
Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire 
Had marked where the unchained millions marched 

on to their hearts' desire. 

On the roofs and the glittering turrets, that night, as 

the sun went down, 
The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewelled 

crown, 
And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted 

their eyes. 
They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. 
Michael's, rise 

High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball. 
That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward 
fall: 



l68 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the 

harbor round, 
The last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound. 

The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning 

light; 
The children prayed at their bedsides, as you will pray 

to-night; 
The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was 

gone, 
And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered 

on. 

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping 

street, 
For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of 

trampling feet; 
Men stared in each other's faces through mingled fire 

and smoke. 
While the frantic bells went clashing clamorous stroke 

on stroke ! 

By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless 

mother fled, 
With the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in 

nameless dread. 
While the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and 

capstone high. 
And planted their flaring banners against an inky sky. 

From the death that raged behind them and the crash 

of ruin loud. 
To the great square of the city, were driven the surging 

crowd, 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 69 

Where yet firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the 

fiery flood, 
With its heavenward-pointing finger the church of St. 

Michael stood. 

But e'en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden 

wail, 
A cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale, 
On whose scorching wings updriven a single flaming 

brand 
Aloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody 

hand. 

" Will it fade? " The whisper trembled from a thou- 
sand whitening lips; 

Far out on the lurid harbor they watched it from the 
ships — 

A baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter shone, 

Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-the-wisp to a steady 
beacon grown. 

Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose 

brave right hand, 
For the love of the periled city, plucks down yon 

burning brand ! " 
So cried the Mayor of Charleston, that all the people 

heard, 
But they looked each one at his fellow, and no man 

spoke a word. 

Who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to 

the sky ? 
Clings to a column and measures the dizzy spire with 

his eye ? 



I/O BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible, 

sickening height ? 
Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins 

at the sight ? 



But see! he has stepped on the railing, he climbs with 
his feet and his hands. 

And firm on a narrow projection with the belfry be- 
neath him he stands! 

Now once, and once only, they cheer him — a single, 
tempestuous breath — 

And there falls on the multitude gazing a hush like 
the stillness of death. 



Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the 

goal of the fire. 
Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face 

of the spire; 
He stops! Will he fall ? Lo, for answer, a gleam like 

a meteor's track! 
And, hurled on the stones of the pavement, the red 

brand lies shattered and black! 



Once more the shouts of the people have rent the 

quivering air, 
At the church-door Mayor and Council wait with their 

feet on the stair, 
And the eager throng behind them press for a touch 

of his hand — 
The unknown savior whose daring could compass a 

deed so grand. 



IN TIME OF PEACE 171 

But why does a sudden tremor seize on them while 

they gaze ? 
And what means the stifled murmur of wonder and 

amaze ? 
He stood in the gate of the temple he had periled 

his life to save, 
And the face of the hero undaunted was the sable face 

of a slave ! 

With folded arms he was speaking, in tones that were 

clear, not loud. 
And his eyes, ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the 

eyes of the crowd : 
You may keep your gold, — I scorn it! — but answer 

me, ye who can. 
If the deed I have done before you be not the deed of 

a man ? ' ' 

He stepped but a short space backward, and from all 

the women and men 
There were only sobs for answer, and the Mayor called 

for a pen 
And the great seal of the city, that he might read who 

ran; 
And the slave who saved St. Michael's went out from 

the door, a man. 

Mary Anna Phinney Stansbury. 
(By special permission of the author.) 

59 
THE RIDE OF COLLIN GRAVES 

No song of a soldier riding down 

To the raging fight of Winchester town ; 



172 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

No song of a time that shook the earth 
With the nation's throe at a nation's birth; 
But the song of a brave man free from fear 
As Sheridan's self or Paul Revere; 
Who risked what they risked, — free from strife 
And its promise of glorious pay, — his life. 

The peaceful valley has waked and stirred, 
And the answering echoes of life are heard ; 
The dew still clings to the trees and grass, 
And the early toilers smiling pass. 
As they glance aside at the white-walled homes, 
Or up the valley where merrily comes 
The brook that sparkles in diamond rills 
As the sun comes over the Hampshire hills. 

What was it passed like an ominous breath ? 
Like a shiver of fear, or a touch of death ? 
What was it ? The valley is peaceful still, 
And the leaves are afire on the top of the hill; 
It was not a sound, nor a thing of sense, — 
But a pain, like a pang in the short suspense 
That wraps the being of those who see 
At their feet the gulf of eternity. 

The air of the valley has felt the chill ; 
The workers pause at the door of the mill; 
The housewife, keen to the shivering air, 
Arrests her foot on the cottage stair. 
Instinctive taught by the mother-love, 
And thinks of the sleeping ones above. 

Why start the listeners ? Why does the course 
Of the mill-stream widen ? Is it a horse — 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1/3 

" Hark to the sound of the hoofs! " they say — 
That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way ? 
God ! what was that like a human shriek 
From the winding valley ? Will nobody speak ? 
Will nobody answer those women who cry 
As the awful warnings thunder by ? 

Whence come they ? Listen ! and now they hear 

The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near; 

They watch the trend of the vale, and see 

The rider who thunders so menacingly, 

With waving arms and warning scream 

To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. 

He draws no rein, but he shakes the street 

With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet, 

And this the cry that he flings to the wind, — 

** To the hills for your lives ! The flood is beJiiiid I " 

He cries and is gone, but they know the worst, — 

The treacherous Williamsburg dam has burst! 

The basin that nourished their happy homes 

Is changed to a demon. It comes! it comes! 

A monster in aspect, with shaggy front 

Of shattered dwellings to take the brunt 

Of the dwellings they shatter; — white-maned and 

hoarse 
The merciless terror fills the course 
Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves 
With death on the first of its hissing waves. 
Till cottage and street and crowded mill 
Are crumbled and crushed. But onward still, 
In front of the roaring flood, is heard 
The galloping horse and the warning word. 



74 BALLADS OF ^MERLCAN BRAVERY 

Thank God that the brave man's life is spared! 
From WilHamsburg town he nobly dared 
To race with the flood, and to take the road 
In front of the terrible swath it mowed. 
For miles it thundered and crashed behind, 
But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind : 
" They must be zvarned ! " was all he said, 
As away on his terrible ride he sped. 

When heroes are called for, bring the crown 
To this Yankee rider; send him down 
On the stream of time with the Curtius old; 
His deed, as the Roman's, was brave and bold ; 
And the tale can as noble a thrill awake, 
For he offered his life for the people's sake! 

John Boyle O'Reilly. 
(By special permission of Miss Mary Boyle O'Reilly.) 

60 

JIM BLUDSO 

Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, 

Becase he don't live, you see; 
Leastways, he 's got out of the habit 

Of livin' like you and me. 
Whar have you been for the last three year 

That you have n't heard folks tell 
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks 

The night of the Prairie Belle ? 

He wer' n't no saint, — them engineers 
Is all pretty much alike, — 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 75 

One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill 

And another one here, in Pike; 
A keerless man in his talk was Jim, 

And an awkward hand in a row, 
But he never flunked, and he never lied, — 

I reckon he never knowed how. 

And this was all the religion he had, — ■ 

To treat his engine well ; 
Never be passed on the river ; 

To mind the pilot's bell ; 
And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, — 

A thousand times he swore. 
He 'd hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last soul got ashore. 

All boats has their day on the Mississip, 

And her day come at last, — 
The Movastar was a better boat. 

But the Belle she would n t be passed. 
And so she come tearin' along that night — 

The oldest craft on the line — 
With a nigger squat on her safety-valve. 

And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. 

The fire bust out as she clared the bar. 

And burnt a hole in the night. 
And quick as a flash she turned, and made 

For that wilier-bank on the right. 
There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out. 

Over all the infernal roar, 
** I '11 hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last galoot 's ashore," 



1/6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Through the hot, black breath of the burniu' boat 

Jim Bludso's voice was heard, 
And they all had trust in his cussedness, 

And knowed he would keep his word. 
And sure 's you 're born, they all got off 

Afore the smokestacks fell, — 
And Bludso's ghost went up alone 

In the smoke of the Prairie Belle, 

He wer' n't no saint, — but at jedgment 

I 'd run my chance with Jim, 
'Longside of some pious gentlemen 

That would n't shook hands with him. 
He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing, — 

And went for it thar and then ; 
And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard 
On a man that died for men. 

John Hay. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and 
Company.) 

6i 
GEORGE NIDIVER 

Men have done brave deeds. 

And bards have sung them well; 

I of good George Nidiver 
Now the tale will tell. 

In Californian mountains 

A hunter bold was he; 
Keen his eye and sure his aim 

As any you should see. 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 77 

A little Indian boy 

Followed him everywhere, 
Eager to share the hunter's joy, 

The hunter's meal to share. 

And when the bird or deer 

Fell by the hunter's skill, 
The boy was always near 

To help with right good will. 

One day as through the cleft 

Between two mountains steep. 
Shut in both right and left, 

Their questing way they keep, 

They see two grizzly bears. 

With hunger fierce and fell, 
Rush at them unawares 

Right down the narrow dell. 

The boy turned round with screams. 

And ran with terror wild ; 
One of the pair of savage beasts 

Pursued the shrieking child. 

The hunter raised his gun. 

He knew one charge was all, 
And through the boy's pursuing foe 

He sent his only ball. 

The other on George Nidiver 

Came on with dreadful pace ; 
The hunter stood unarmed. 

And met him face to face. 

I say unarmed he stood ; 



Against those frightful paws, 



1/8 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

The rifle butt, or club of wood, 
Could stand no more than straws. 

George Nidiver stood still, 
And looked him in the face; 

The wild beast stopped amazed, 
Then came with slackened pace. 

Still firm the hunter stood, 

Although his heart beat high ; • 

Again the creature stopped. 

And gazed with wondering eye. 

The hunter met his gaze. 

Nor yet an inch gave way; 
The bear turned slowly round, 

And slowly moved away. 

What thoughts were in his mind 

It would be hard to spell; 
What thoughts were in George Nidiver's 

I rather guess than tell. 

But sure that rifle's aim, 

Swift choice of generous part, 

Showed in its passing gleam 
The depths of a brave heart. 

Anonymous. 

62 

A MAN'S NAME 

Through the packed horror of the night 

It rose up like a star, 
And sailed into the infinite, 

Where the immortals are. 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 79 

" Down brakes! " One splendid hard-held breath, 

And lo, an unknown name 
Strode into sovereignty from death 

Trailing a path of flame! 

** Jump! " — " I remain." — No needless word, 

No vagueness in his breast ; 
Along his blood the swift test stirred — 

He answered to the test. 

Gripped his black peril like a vise, 

And, as be grappled, saw 
That life is one with sacrifice. 

And duty one with law. 

Home: — but his feet grew granite fast; 

Wife: — yet he did not reel; 
Babes: — ah, they tugged! but to the last 

He stood as true as steel. 

Above his own heart's lovingness. 

Above another's crime, 
Above the immitigable stress. 

Above himself and time. 

Smote loving Comfort on the cheek. 

Gave quibbling Fear the lie. 
Taught ambling Fluence how to speak. 

And brave men how to die. 

Who said the time of kings was gone ? 

Who said our Alps were low. 
And not by God's airs blown upon ? 

Behold, it is not so ! 



l8o BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Out from the palace and the hut, 

Dwarf-fronted, lame of will. 
Limp our marred Joves and giants — but 

Sceptered for mastery still, 

And clothed with puissance to quell 

Whatever mobs of shame 
Are leagued within us, with such spell 

As David Simmons' name. 

Richard Realf, 

(From Poems, by Richard Realf. Copyright, Funk and Wagnalls 
Company, 1898, By special permission.) 

63 

THE MAN WHO RODE TO CONEMAUGH 

Into the town of Conemaugh, 

Striking the people's souls with awe, 

Dashed a rider, aflame and pale. 

Never flighting to tell his tale, 

Sitting his big bay horse astride. 

** Run for your lives to the hills! " he cried; 

" Run to the hills! " was what he said, 

As he waved his hand and dashed ahead. 

Run for your lives to the hills! " he cried. 
Spurring his horse, whose reeking side 
Was flecked with foam as red as flame. 
Whither he goes and whence he carne 
Nobody knows. They see his horse 
Plunging on in his frantic course. 
Veins distended and nostrils wide, 
Fired and frenzied at such a ride. 



IN TIME OF PEACE l8l 

Nobody knows the rider's name — 

Dead forever to earthly fame. 

" Run to the hills! to the hills! " he cried; 

" Run for your lives to the mountain side! " 

" Stop him! he 's mad! just look at him go! 

'T ain't safe," they said, " to let him ride so." 

*' He thinks he can scare us," said one, with a laugh, 

** But Conemaugh folks don't swallow no chaff; 

'T ain't nothing, I '11 bet, but the same old leak 

In the dam above the South Fork Creek." 

Blind to their danger, callous of dread. 

They laughed as he left them and dashed ahead. 

Run for your lives to the hills! " he cried, 
Lashing his horse in his desperate ride. 

Down through the valley the rider passed, 

Shouting, and spurring his horse on fast; 

But not so fast did the rider go 

As the raging, roaring, mighty flow 

Of the million feet and the millions more 

Of water whose fury he fled before. 

On he went, and on it came, 

The flood itself a very flame 

Of surging, swirling, seething tide. 

Mountain high and torrents wide. 

God alone might measure the force 

Of the Conemaugh flood in its V-shaped course. 

Behind him were buried under the flood 

Conemaugh town and all who stood 

Jeering there at the man who cried, 

*' Run for your lives to the mountain side! " 



1 82 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

On he sped in his fierce, wild ride. 

Run to the hills! to the hills! " he cried. 
Nearer, nearer raged the roar 
Horse and rider fled before. 
Dashing along the valley ridge. 
They came at last to the railroad bridge. 
The big horse stood, the rider cried, 

Run for your lives to the mountain side! " 
Then plunged across, but not before 
The mighty, merciless mountain roar 
Struck the bridge and swept it away 
Like a bit of straw or a wisp of hay. 
But over and under and through that tide 
The voice of the unknown rider cried, 

Run to the hills! to the hills! " it cried, — 

Run for your lives to the mountain side! " 

John Eliot Bowen. 

(By special permission of Edward A. Bowen, Esq., and of Harper 
and Brothers.) 

64 

JOHNNY BARTHOLOMEW 

The journals this morning are full of a tale 

Of a terrible ride through a tunnel by rail ; 

And people are called on to note and admire 

How a hundred or more, through the smoke-cloud and 

fire, 
Were borne from all peril to limbs and to lives — 
Mothers saved to their children, and husbands to 

wives. 
But of him who performed such a notable deed 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 83 

Quite little the journalists give us to read. 
In truth, of this hero so plucky and bold 
There is nothing except, in few syllables told, 
His name, which is Johnny Bartholomew. 

Away in Nevada — they don't tell us where, 
Nor does it much matter — a railway is there 
Which winds in and out through the cloven ravines, 
With glimpses at times of the wildest of scenes: 
Now passing a bridge seeming fine as a thread, 
Now shooting past cliffs that impend o'er the head. 
Now plunging some black-throated tunnel within. 
Whose darkness is roused at the clatter and din; 
And ran every day with its train o'er the road 
An engine that steadily dragged on its load. 
And was driven by Johnny Bartholomew. 

With throttle-valve down, he was slowing the train. 
While the sparks fell around and behind him like rain. 
As he came to a spot where a curve to the right 
Brought the black, yawning mouth of a tunnel in 

sight. 
And, peering ahead with a far-seeing ken, 
Felt a quick sense of danger come over him then. 
Was a train on the track ? No ! A peril as dire — 
The farther extreme of the tunnel on fire! 
And the volume of smoke, as it gathered and rolled, 
Shook fearful dismay from each dun-colored fold, 
But daunted not Johnny Bartholomew. 

Beat faster his heart, though its current stood still. 
And his nerves felt a jar, but no tremulous thrill; 
And his eyes keenly gleamed through their partly 
closed lashes. 



1 84 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

And his lips — not with fear — took the color of ashes. 

If we falter, these people behind us are dead! 
So close the doors, fiieinan; we '11 send her ahead! 
Crowd on the steam till she rattles and swings! 
Open the throttle-valve! give her her wings! " 
Shouted he from his post in the engineer's room, 
Driving onward perchance to a terrible doom, 

This man they call Johnny Bartholomew. 

Firm grasping the bell-rope and holding his breath, 
On, on through the Vale of the Shadow of Death; 
On, on through the horrible cavern of hell, 
Through flames that arose and through timbers that 

fell. 
Through the eddying smoke and the serpents of fire 
That writhed and that hissed in their anguish and ire. 
With a rush and a roar like the wild tempest's 

blast, 
To the free air beyond them in safety they passed ; 
While the clang of the bell and the steam-pipe's shrill 

yell 
Told the joy of escape from that underground hell 
Of the man they called Johnny Bartholomew. 

Did the passengers get up a service of plate ? 
Did some oily-tongued orator at the man prate ? 
Women kiss him ? Young children cling fast to his 

knees ? 
Stout men in their rapture his brown fingers squeeze ? 
And where was he born ? Is he handsome ? Has he 
A wife for his bosom, a child for his knee ? 
Is he young ? Is he old ? Is he tall ? Is he short ? 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 85 

Well, ladies, the journals tell naught of the sort. 
And all that they give us about him to-day, 
After telling the tale in a commonplace way. 
Is — the man's name is Johnny Bartholomew. 

Thomas Dunn English. 
(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 

65 

HIS NAME 

O, THE billows of fire ! 
With maelstrom-like swirl, 
Their surges they hurl 
Over roof, over spire, 
Mad, masterless, higher, 
Till rumble — crack — crash — 
Down boom with a flash. 
Whole columns of granite and marble: see! see! 
Sucked in as a weed on the ocean might be. 

Or engulfed as a sail 
In the hurricane-riot and wreak of the gale ! 

Ha! yonder they rush where the death-dealing steam. 

Over-pent, waits their gleam 
To shudder the city with earthquake ! Who, who 
Will adventure mid-flame, and unfasten the screw, 
Set the fiend loose, and save us so ? Firemen, you — 
You willing ? Would God you might hazard it ! Nay, 
The red tongues are licking the faucets now! Stay! 

Too late! — 't is too late! 
If ruin, explosion, must come, let us wait 



1 86 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Its coming: to go is to perish. — Hold! hold! 

You are young — I am old — 
You Ve a wife too — and children ? . . . O God, he 

is gone 
Straight into destruction ! The pipes, men ! On — on ! 
Play the water-stream on him — full — faster — the whole ! 
And now .... Christ save his soul! 

I stifle — I choke — 
And lie — Heaven grant that he smother in smoke 
Ere the dread detonation! Hark! — hark! What's 
the shout ? 

Is he saved ? Is he out f 
Did he compass his purpose ? . . . The hero ! One 

name 
This pencil of fire on the records of Fame 
Shall blazon, if justice is meted. Why here 

On my cheek is a tear, 
Which not a whole city in ashes could claim ! 
His name, now, — can nobody tell me Ids name ? 

— Margaret Junkin Preston. 
(By special permission of Dr. George J. Preston.) 

66 
OLD BRADDOCK 

Fire! fire in AUentown ! 

The Women's Building — it must go. 
Mothers wild rush up and down, 

Despairing men push to and fro; 
Two stories caught — one story more — 
See — see — old Braddock 's to the fore, 
Braddockj full three-score. 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 87 

Like a high granite rock 

His good gray head looms huge and bare; 
Firm as rock in tempest shock 

He towers above the tallest there. 
" Conrad ! " 'T is Braddock to his son, 
The prop he thinks to lean upon 
When his work is done. 

Conrad, the young and brave, 

Unflinching meets his father's eye: 
" Who would now the children save, 

That they die not himself must die." 
The boy, in that white face no fear — 
But, oh, it is so sweet, so dear — 
Life at twenty year ! 

Father — Father! " A quick 

Embrace, 'and he has set his feet 
On the ladder. Rolling thick. 

The flame-shot smoke chokes all the street. 
So blinds one only has descried 
Her form, that, through its dreadful tide, 
Springs to Conrad's side. 

Strong she is, now, as he, 

Throbbing with love's own lion might; 
Strong as beautiful is she. 

And Conrad's arms are pinioned tight. 

Far through the fire, sits God above — " 
In vain he pleads; full does it prove. 
Her full strength of love. 

Too late she sets him free — 

High overhead his father's call: 



:88 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

From a height no eye can see 

Calls hoary Braddock down the wall, — 
" Old men are Death's, let him destroy. 
Young men are Life's, Conrad, my boy — 
Life's and Love's, my boy! " 

. Wilder the women's cries, 

Hoarser the shouts of men below; 

Sheets of fire against the skies. 
Set all the stricken town aglow. 

With sweep and shriek, with rush and roar. 

The flames shut round old Braddock hoar — 

Braddock, full three-score. 

" Save, save my children, save! " 

** Aye, aye! " all answer, speak as one, 

" If man's arm can from the grave 

Bring back your babes, it will be done; 

Know Braddock still is worth us all — 

Hark — hark! It is his own brave call, — 

* Back — back from the wall! 

God, God, that it should be! 

As savagely the lashed wind veers, 
Fiercer than the fiery sea 

The frantic crowd waves hands, and cheers 
An old man high in whirl of hell! 
The children — how, no soul can tell — 
Braddock holds them well. 

Shorn all that good gray head 

With snows of sixty winters sown; 
Griped around the children's bed, 



IN TIME OF PEACE 1 89 

One arm is shriveled to the bone: 
'* Old men are Death's, let him destroy, 
Young men are Life's, Conrad, my boy. 
Life's and Love's, my boy! "... 

. Fire ! fire in AUentown ! 

Though 't was a hundred years ago, 
How the babes were carried down, 

To-day the village children know. 

They know of Braddock's good gray head, 

They know the last, great words he said. 

Know how he fell — dead. 

John Vance Cheney.' 
(By special permission of the author.) 

67 

IN APIA BAY 

{Morituri vos salutainus) 

Ruin and death held sway 

That night in Apia Bay, 
And smote amid the loud and dreadful gloom. 

But, Hearts, no longer weep 

The salt unresting sleep 
Of the great dead, victorious in their doom. 

Vain, vain the strait retreat 

That held the fated fleet. 
Trapped in the two-fold threat of sea and shore ! 

Fell reefs on either hand. 

And the devouring strand ! 
Above, below, the tempest's deafening roar! 



IQO BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

What mortal hand shall write 

The horror of that night, 
The desperate struggle in that deadly close, 

The yelling of the blast, 

The wild surf, white, aghast, 
The whelming seas, the thunder and the throes! . 

How the great cables surged, 

The giant engines urged, . 
As the brave ships the unequal strife waged on ! 

Not hope, not courage flagged ; 

But the vain anchors dragged. 
Down on the reefs they shattered, and were gone ! 

And now were wrought the deeds 

Whereof each soul that reads 
Grows manlier, and burns with prouder breath, — 

Heroic brotherhood, 

The loving bonds of blood, 
Proclaimed from high hearts face to face with death. 

At length, the English ship 

Her cables had let slip. 
Crowded all steam, and steered for the open sea, 

Resolved to challenge Fate, 

To pass the perilous strait, 
And wrench from jaws of ruin Victory. 

With well-tried metals strained. 

In the storm's teeth she gained. 
Foot by slow foot made head, and crept toward life. 

Across her dubious way 

The good ship Trenton lay. 
Helpless, but thrilled to watch the splendid strife, 



IN TIME OF PEACE I9I 

Helmless she lay, her bulk 

A blind and wallowing hulk, 
By her strained hawsers only held from wreck, 

But dauntless each brave heart 

Played his immortal part 
In strong endurance on the reeling deck. 

- They fought Fate inch by inch, — 

Could die, but could not flinch; 
And, biding the inevitable doom, 

They marked the English ship, 

Baffling the tempest's grip, 
Forge hardly forth from the expected tomb. 

Then, with exultant breath, 

These heroes waiting death. 
Thundered across the storm a peal of cheers, — 

To the triumphant brave 

A greeting from the grave, 
Whose echo shall go ringing down the years. 

To you, who well have won, 

From us, whose course is run, 
Glad greeting, as we face the undreaded end! " 

The memory of those cheers 

Shall thrill in English ears 
Where'er this English blood and speech extend. 

No manlier deed comes down. 

Blazoned in broad renown, 
From men of old who lived to dare and die ! 

The old fire yet survives. 

Here in our modern lives. 
Of splendid chivalry and valor high ! 

Charles George Douglas Roberts. 
(By special permission of the author, and of The YoiitJi s Companion?) 



NOTES 

[For information incorporated in the notes the Editor is indebted to 
many of the authors represented in the volume. He has also, in several 
instances, received valuable suggestions from Mr. Francis F. Browne's 
"Bugle Echoes." The notes are intended to be suggestive rather than 
in any sense exhaustive.] 

Hn Uime of Strife 

r. Paul Revere's Ride. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the most widely read and most 
beloved American poet, was born in Portland, Maine, February 
27, 1807, and died in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he had 
long resided, March 24, 1882. 

Paul Revere, who was a self-taught engraver upon copperplate, and 
who at the time of the Revolution was one of the four engravers in 
America, rendered his first important service as a messenger in con- 
nection with the throwing overboard of the tea in Boston harbor. 
Before he took his most famous ride he had traveled several thousand 
miles in the interest of the " patriot " cause, and after 

"the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five," 

continued to act as a bearer of dispatches. He was one of the com- 
mittee of upwards of thirty formed in Boston to watch the movements of 
the British soldiers. On the memorable evening of April iSth, troops 
were observed marching toward the bottom of the Common. About 
ten o'clock Revere was apprised of this fact, whereupon he at once 
repaired to the house of Dr. Joseph Warren (afterward General War- 
ren), one of the committee. There he discovered that an "express," 
one William Dawes, had already been sent by land to Lexington. 

193 



194 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Hurriedly seeking his friend, Robert Newman, the sexton of the " Old 
North Church" (Christ Church, Salem vStreet), and arranging for the 
display of the signal previously agreed upon. Revere set out. He suc- 
ceeded in reaching Lexington before Dawes, who joined him about half 
an hour after his arrival. The two, together with Dr. Prescott, "a 
high Son of Liberty," started in company for Concord, but were inter- 
cepted at Lincoln by a party of British. Revere and Dawes were cap- 
tured, but Prescott managed to escape by jumping his horse over a 
stone wall. It was he who rode on to Concord, alarming the country- 
side as he went. 

Of Dawes's part in the entecprise of the night, Helen F. More wrote 
thus humorously in the Century Magazine for February, iSq6 •. 

WHAT ' S IN A NAME ? 

I am a wandering, bitter shade ; 
Never of me was a hero made ; 
Poets have never sung my praise, 
Nobody crowned my brows with bays ; 
And if you ask me the fatal cause, 
I answer only, " My name was Dawes." 

' T is all very well for children to hear 
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere ; 
But why should my name be quite forgot, 
Who rode so boldly and well, God wot? 
Why should I ask ? The reason is clear — 
My name is Dawes and his Revere. 

When the lights from the Old North Church flashed out, 

Paul Revere was waiting about, 

But I was already on my way. 

The shadows of night fell cold and gray 

As I rode, with never a break or pause ; 

But what was the use, when my name was Dawes ? 

History rings with his silvery name ; 
Closed to me are the portals of fame. 
Had he l^een Dawes and I Revere, 
No one had heard of him, I fear. 
No one has heard of me because ■ 
He was Revere and I was Dawes. 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 95 

Paul Revere was born within sight of the " Old North Church," and 
almost under its shadow he lived and died (1735-1818J. It is fitting, 
then, that to-day the passer should see, imbedded in the solid masonry 
of the tower, a tablet bearing this inscription : 

THE SIGNAL LANTERNS OF 

PAUL REVERE 

DISPLAYED IN THE STEEPLE OF THIS CHURCH 

APRIL 18, 1775, 

WARNED THE COUNTRY OF THE MARCH 

OF THE BRITISH TROOPS TO 

LEXINGTON AND CONCORD, 

2. Mary Butler's Ride. By Benjamin Franklin Taylor. 

Benjamin Franklin Taylor was born in Lowville, New York, July 
19, 18 ig. He was best known as a lecturer. He died in Cleve- 
land, Ohio, February 24, 1887. 

Of the poem the author says : " The story of ' Mary Butler's Ride ' is 
unembellished truth. To one of her grandsons, J. M. Taylor, Esq., of 
New York, I am indebted for the incident. To hear men say, — those 
far-away boys of hers, and yet busy in life's affairs, — ' many a time I 
have heard her tell the story! ' brings the gray-eyed Mary Butler strangely 
near. It is like raising a dead century to instant resurrection." 

1. 39. Stark (John, 1728-1822), a Continental brigadier-general 
who distinguished himself at Bunker Hill and Bennington. 

1. 84. Putnam (Israel, 1718-1790), a Continental major-general, 
active at Bunker Hill and in various other engagements until stricken 
by paralysis in 1779. His daring escape from the British soldiers by 
riding down a flight of stone steps in the town of Greenwich, Con- 
necticut, occurred in March, 1779. 

3. The Surprise AT TicoNDEROGA. By Mary Anna PhinneyStansbury. 

Mary Anna Phinney Stansbury, a magazine writer who resides in 
Appleton, Wisconsin, was born in Vernon, New York, October 5, 
1842. 

Ethan Allen, the hero of Ticonderoga, though born in Litchfield, 
Connecticut (January 10, 1737), early removed to Vermont. He partic- 
ipated in the invasion of Canada under General Schuylef , and was there 
captured and sent a prisoner to England, where he suffered many priva- 
tions. It was largely through his instrumentality that Vermont was 



196 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

recognized as an independent State. He died in Burlington, February 
13, 1789. 

The fortress of Ticonderoga (a corruption of the Iroquois " Cheon- 
deroga,'' meaning "rushing waters") was erected by the French, in 
1755) oil the western shore of Lake Champlain, near the outlet of Lake 
George. It was originally called Fort Carillon (chime of bells) from 
the neighboring waterfall (see stanza 6). It was here that the French 
under Montcalm (stanza 13) repulsed the English under Abercrombie, 
on the 8th of July, 1758. 

Allen's bold capture was effected on the morning of May 10, 1775. 

At the time of the taking of Ticonderoga by Allen, the garrison con- 
sisted of but forty-eight men under the command of Captain Delaplace, 
The Continental Congress, which Allen invoked at the time of the 
surrender, had not yet organized. It held its first session six hours later 
on that very day. 

Stanza 11. King David. See 2 Samuel v., 23, 24. 

The Vermont " Green Mountain Boys," mentioned so prominently in 
a number of engagements in the Revolution, were first organized in 
1772 to resist the civil power of New York. 

In connection with Mrs. Stansbury's poem it may be interesting to 
read Robert Louis Stevenson's ballad, "Ticonderoga." 

4. Montgomery at Quebec. By Clinton Scollard. 

Clinton Scollard, born in Clinton, New York, September 18, i860. 

Richard Montgomery was a native of the North of Ireland. He 
entered the British army at the age of twenty, and served with dis- 
tinction under Wolfe, and later in the campaign against the Spanish 
West Indies. Marrying a daughter of Robert R. Livingston, and set- 
tling upon the Hudson, at Rhinebeck, he espoused the cause of the 
colonists at the opening of the war. In the expedition against Canada 
he was second in command under Schuyler, with the rank of brigadier- 
general. The attack upon Quebec was made early in the morning of 
the 31st of December, 1775. Montgomery's death was regarded as 
a great public calamity. Congress passed resolutions of regret and con- 
dolence, and Chatham and Burke eulogized the dead leader on the floor 
of the British Parliament. At the time of his death he was thirty-eight 
years of age. 

Stanza 6. Wolfe (James), the "hero of Louisburg" and the 
conqueror of Quebec, fell upon the Plains of Abraham in his thirty- 
second year. He is to this day regarded as one of the half dozen 
most noted generals that England has produced. Quebec was taken 
on the 13th of September, 1759. 



N0 7^ES — /A^ TIME OF STRIFE \gy 

5. The Maryland Battalion. By John Williamson Palmer. 

John Williamson Palmer, a Baltimore physician, the author of the 
famous lyric, "Stonewall Jackson's Way," and Bret Harte's fore- 
runner in "breaking the virgin soil of California in the field of 
American letters," was born in the city of Baltimore, April 4, 1825. 

This ballad celebrates the heroism of the "Maryland Battalion " at 
the battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776, where they checked the 
advance of Cornwallis, and saved a portion of Stirling's command from 
capture. Two hundred and fifty-nine were left dead on the field. 

Stanza 2. It was in the Platbush district, on the American left, 
that General Sullivan was driven back by the Hessians and flanked by 
Clinton's light infantry and dragoons. 

Martense's lane was a "pass," or road, on the southern border of 
Greenwood Cemetery. Freeke's Mill (stanza 4) stood upon Freeke's 
mill-pond at the head of Gowanus Creek. 

Stanza 4. Grant, the British general who commanded the left 
wing in the battle of Pong Island. It was he who declared in the 
House of Commons that the Americans could not fight, and said he 
would undertake to march from one end of the continent to the other 
with five thousand men. 

Stanza 5. Stirling (William Alexander), commonly called Lord 
Stirling, was the eldest son of James Alexander Stirling, heir presump- 
tive to the earldom of Stirling, who fled to America in 1716 after having 
been actively involved in the Jacobite conspiracy of the previous year. 
Lord Stirling was born in New York City in 1726. He was aide-de- 
camp and secretary to General Shirley in the French and Indian War, 
and received a commission as brigadier-general in the Continental army 
in 1776. After the battle of Long Island, Congress made him a major- 
general. He died at Albany in January, 1783. 

Mordecai Gist was a major in the " Maryland Battalion" who subse- 
quently rose to the rank of brigadier-general. He was a native of 
Baltimore. 

6. Arnold at Stillwater, By Thomas Dunn English. 

Thomas Dunn English, a physician of Newark, New Jersey, was 

born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, June 29, i8ig. Since early 

life Dr. English has been a contributor to the periodicals of the 

day. His popular ballad, " Ben Bolt," appeared in 1842, 

Benedict Arnold was born in Norwich, Connecticut, January 3, 1740. 

He was in command of a volunteer company at the outbreak of the 

Revolution, and marched at once to Cambridge. He served with great 



1 98 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

bravery on Lake Champlain, in Canada, and at Stillwater. After his 
treason he received a brigadier-general's commission in the British 
army. At the close of the war he went to England, where he re- 
sided most of the time until his death, June 14, 1801. The second 
battle of Stillwater (sometimes called Bemis's Heights and sometimes 
Saratoga) was fought October 7, 1777. Of Arnold's part in this battle 
George William Curtis says, in his Centennial Oration : " The British, 
dismayed, bewildered, overwhelmed, were scarcely within their re- 
doubts, when Benedict Arnold, to whom the jealous Gates, who did not 
come upon the field during the day, had refused a command, outriding 
an aide whom Gates had sent to recall him, came spurring up : Bene- 
dict Arnold — whose name America does not love, — whose ruthless will 
had dragged the doomed Canadian expedition through the starving wil- 
derness of Maine, who, volunteering to relieve Fort Stanwix, had, by 
the mere terror of his coming, blown St. Leger away, and who on the 
igth of September had saved the American left. Benedict Arnold, 
whom battle stung to fury, now whirled from end to end of the 
American line, hurled it against the great redoubt, driving the enemy at 
the point of the bayonet ; then flinging himself to the extreme right, 
and finding there the Massachusetts brigade, swept it with him to the 
assault, and streaming over the breastworks, scattered the Bruns- 
wickers who defended them, killed their colonel, gained and held the 
point which commanded the entire British position, while at the same 
moment his horse was shot under him, and he sank to the ground 
wounded in the leg that had been wounded at Quebec. Here, upon 
the Hudson, where he tried to betray his country ; here, upon the spot 
where, in the crucial hour of the Revolution, he illustrated and led the 
American valor that made us free and great, knowing well that no 
earlier service can condone for a later crime, let us recall for one brief 
instant of infinite pity the name that has been justly execrated for a 
century." 

Horatio Gates, who commanded the American forces at the battle of 
Stillwater, was an Englishman by birth, and had served under Brad- 
dock. He was made adjutant-general at the opening of the Revo- 
lution, and accompanied Washington to Cambridge when " the great 
Virginian " went thither to take charge of the army. Just before the 
battle of Stillwater Gates superseded General Schuyler in the command 
of the army of the north. He suffered a disastrous defeat at Camden, 
when at the head of the southern forces. His patriotism was undoubted, 
but he lacked the judgment of a great commander. 

Burgoyne (John, 1723-1792), who commanded the British forces at 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 99 

the battle of Stillwater, had distinguished himself in Portugal, and had 
also been a member of the British Parliament before coming to America, 
Much was expected of his expedition. It was intended to cut the colo- 
nies in twain, and thus crush the rebellion. Burgoyne was at one time 
commander-in-chief in Ireland. During the closing years of his life he 
devoted himself to literature. 

Stanza 5. Poor (Enoch), a New Hampshire brigadier-general 
who served with distinction in the Continental army until 1780, when 
he died at Hackensack, New Jersey, 

Learned (Ebenezer), a Massachusetts brigadier-genei^al who had 
served in the French and Indian War. 

Stanza 6. Cilley (Joseph), a New Hampshire colonel who was 
later in the commands of General Wayne and General Sullivan. 

Stanza 7. Major Ackland, of the Grenadier corps, a most gallant 
British officer, was shot through both legs in this battle. Pie recov- 
ered, but after his return to England he was slain in a duel into which 
he was drawn through his defence of the bravery of the Americans. 

Stanza 12. Armstrong (John), a Pennsylvania major, at first 
attached to the staff of General Hugh Mercer, and later to that of Gen- 
eral Gates, with whom he remained until the close of the war. 

Stanza 16. Brooks (John), a Massachusetts colonel who after- 
ward became adjutant-general. 

Wesson (James), a Massachusetts colonel who commanded a regi- 
ment in Learned's brigade. 

Livingston (James), a New York colonel who commanded a regiment 
in Learned's brigade. 

Morgan (Daniel), a native of New Jersey whose family removed to 
Virginia while he was yet young. He served with much distinction 
throughout the Revolution, and rose to the rank of major-general. 

7. The Yankee Man-of-War, Anonymous. 

Of this spirited ballad Alfred M, Williams, in his " Studies in Folk 
Song and Popular Poetry," says : " To this period, however [the Revo- 
lution], belongs what is perhaps the very best of American sea-songs. 
We do not know whether its authorship was of that time or not, 
although it probably was, and from internal evidence it would seem to 
have been composed by one of the very crew of the Rangei', Paul 
Jones's ship, which escaped from a British squadron in the Irish Chan- 
nel in 1778. It was first published, in 1883, by Commodore Luce, in 
his collection of ' Naval Songs,' with the statement that it was taken 
down from the recitation of a sailor." To this fact is doubtless due the 



200 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

very evident break in the form of the fifth stanza. Most of the places 
mentioned in the poem (save Dunmore, a promontory on the south- 
western coast) are situated on the southeastern coast of Ireland. 

The spirit of the piece, the frequent recurrence of technical ex- 
pressions, together with the swinging measure, remind one (albeit some- 
what remotely) of the work of the foremost balladist of our day, — 
Rudyard Kipling, 

8. The Ride of Jennie M'Neal. By Will Carleton, 

Will Carleton was born in Hudson, Michigan, October 21, 1845. 
He is best known by his domestic ballads, " Over the Hill to the 
Poorhouse " and " Betsey and I Are Out." 

The "Neutral Ground" of the poem — Westchester County, New 
York — was so called because it was held neither by the British nor 
the American armies during the Revolutionary War. This locality is 
the scene of some of the most stirring passages in Cooper's Spy. 

Last stanza. Putnam. See " Mary Butler's Ride." 

9. The Song of Marion's Men. By William Cullen Bryant. 

William Cullen Bryant, " the father of American song," was born 
in Cammington, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. For fifty years 
he was the editor of the New York Evening Post. He died in New 
York City, June 12, 1878. In " Thanatopsis " and " To a Water- 
fowl " his genius finds its highest expression. 

Francis Marion, one of the most noted partisan leaders of the Revo- 
lution, was born near Georgetown, South Carolina, in 1732. He was of 
Huguenot ancestry. He took part in the Cherokee war of 1761, and 
rendered conspicuous service throughout the struggle of the colonies for 
independence, particularly during the last two years. It is said that the 
brilliant British cavalry leader, Colonel Tarleton, first gave him the 
name of "swamp-fox." He died at his plantation near Eutaw, South 
Carolina, in February, 1795. 

10. How WE Burned the " Philadelphia." By Barrett Eastman. 
Barrett Eastman, a Chicago journalist, was born in Chicago, Janu- 
ary 25, i86g. 

" The destruction of the Philadelphia, which Lord Nelson, then com- 
manding the British blockading fleet off Toulon, called ' the most bold 
and daring act of the age,' was effected on the night of February 9, 1804. 
In the party, numbering but seventy-five officers and men all told, were 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 20I 

Stephen Decatur, Jr., James Lawrence, Joseph Bainbridge, Thomas 
Macdonough, and many others who rose to distinction." — B. E. 

Stephen Decatur, who commanded the expedition against the Phila- 
delphia^ was of French descent, and was born in Sinnepuxent, Mary- 
land, January 5, 1779. He first saw service against the French, was 
active in the war of 1812, and chastised the Algerines in 1815, He was 
killed in a duel by Commodore James Barron on March 22. 1820. 

11. The "Shannon" and the "Chesapeake." By Thomas Tracy 
Bouve. 

Thomas Tracy Bouve was born in Hingham, Massachusetts, June 
23, 1875. He is the author of several other stirring ballads. 

Lawrence (James), was born in Burlington, New Jersey, October I, 
1781. He was prominent in Decatur's expedition to destroy the Phila- 
delphia. He commanded the Hornet, which sank the brig-of-war Pea- 
cock, a victory which led to his being appointed to the Chesapeake. It 
was from Boston harbor that he sailed to meet the Shannon, June I, 
1813. He died at sea five days later. 

Stanza 5. Hingham, a town of Plymouth County, Massachusetts, 
fourteen miles southeast of Boston, on Massachusetts Bay! 

Stanza 10. Broke (Philip Bowes Vere), the captain of the Shan- 
no7i, who was knighted for his victory over the Chesapeake, and became 
a popular hero in England. 

12. The Fight of the ' ' Armstrong " Privateer. By James Jeffrey 
Roche. 

James Jeffrey Roche, a journalist and ballad writer of much vigor, 

was born in Queens County, Ireland, May 31, 1847. His early life 

was spent on Prince Edward Island. He removed to Boston in 

1866, and on the death of John Boyle O'Reilly succeeded him as 

editor of the Pilot. 

The memorable "Fight of the Armstrong Privateer" took place 

September 26 and 27, 1814. The British lost one hundred and twenty 

men killed and one hundred and eighty wounded, while the Americans 

had but two killed and seven wounded. 

Samuel Chester Reid, who commanded the Armstrong, was the son 
of a lieutenant in the British navy. He was at one time harbor-master 
and warden of the port of New York, and was the designer of the 
present form of the United States flag, proposing to retain the original 
thirteen stripes and add a new star whenever a new State was admitted 
to the Union. 



202 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

1. 10. Nelson (Horatio), England's most noted naval commander, 
the hero of Copenhagen, Aboukir Bay, Egypt, where he destroyed the 
French fleet, and of Trafalgar, where he was victorious over the com- 
bined fleets of France and Spain, and where he met his death, October 
21, 1805. 

1. 12. Dundonald (Thomas Cochrane, Earl of Dundonald, 1749- 
1831), a distinguished Scottish seaman. 

1. 31. Dartmoor, an English prison in Devonshire. It was built in 
1806, during the Napoleonic wars, for the retention of prisoners. Seven 
Americans were killed here, and sixty wounded, on April 16, 1815, a 
brutal and unprovoked act. 

1. 40. Pico, one of the middle group of the Azores. 

1. 42. Lloyd (Captain Robert), of the Plantagenet, the commander 
of the English fleet. 

13. The Men of the Alamo. By James Jeffrey Roche. 

James Jeffrey Roche, See note on " The Fight of the Armstrong 
Privateer." 

The Alamo was a Spanish Mission at San Antonio, founded early in the 
i8th century. Later it was transformed into a fortress. In addition to 
the church, with adjacent buildings used as quarters for the soldiers and 
for the magazine, there was a rectangular space about one hundred and 
fifty yards long and fifty yards wide protected by a stone wall from six 
to eight feet in height and nearly three feet in thickness. This enclos- 
ure was defended by fourteen or more cannon. The storming of the 
Alamo took place on the morning of the 6th of March, 1836. There 
were 188 Texans defending the place, while the Mexican force numbered 
from 2500 to 5000. Three women, a child, and a negro servant sur- 
vived the fight. The statement in the last line of the poem refers to 
the defenders. 

1. I. Houston (Samuel, 1793-1863), a Virginian by birth, the com- 
mander-in-chief of the army of the Texas republic. He was the second 
president (first by regular election) of the Republic of Texas, and after- 
ward United States senator and the governor of the State. 

1. 4. Nueces, a river of southern Texas emptying into Corpus 
Christi Bay. 

1. 5. Castrillon, a Mexican general (a Spaniard by birth) who was 
killed at San Jacinto, where he had command of the artillery. It was 
he who had charge of the assault on the Alamo. 

Cos (Martin Perfecto de), a Mexican general, and brother-in-law of 
Santa Anna. He was in command at San Antonio when the place was 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 203 

surrendered to the Texans in December, 1835. He was released upon 
parole under the promise that he would not oppose the re-establishment 
of the Federal Constitution of 1824. He returned with Santa Anna the 
following year, and participated in the attack upon the Alamo, hence 
the epithet " perjured." 

Sesma (Ramirez y), a Mexican general. 

Almonte (Juan Nepomunceno), the son of a Mexican priest and 
patriot. He was a colonel in the Mexican army, and Santa Anna's 
secretary. He at one time served as the Mexican minister to the United 
States. He was an upholder of Maximilian and served in his cabinet. 
When that ill-fated prince fell, Almonte escaped to France, where he 
died two or three years later. 

1. 6. Santa Anna (Antonio Lopez de, 1795-1876), several times 
president of Mexico, and when not in power usually a conspirator 
against the head of the government. He was in command of the 
Mexican army in the war against the Texans, and again in the war with 
the United States. He served under Maximilian, and against him. No 
less than six times he was exiled, or fled the country. 

1. 13. Travis (William Barrett, 1811-1836), the colonel who com- 
manded at the defence of the Alamo, by birth an Alabamian. He 
practiced law in his native State in his early manhood, but emigrated to 
Texas in 1832, and there became interested in the cause of independ- 
ence. He was of fine stature, and noted for his intrepidity. 

1. 16. Bowie (James, 1790-1836), a Georgian who gained notoriety 
on account of his part in a bloody melee which followed a duel fought 
opposite Natchez, on the Mississippi, in August, 1827. It is said that 
it was in this encounter that the famous knife which afterward bore 
Bowie's name was first used. The original weapon was made from a 
blacksmith's broken rasp or file. Bowie emigrated from Louisiana, 
"Vkhere he was living at the time of the duel, to Texas, and was active in 
the Texan struggle till his death. 

1. 17. Evans (Robert), a Texan major of artillery who was shot 
when on the point of firing a train to blow up the magazine of the 
Alamo at Travis's order. 

1. 29. Crockett (David, familiarly known as " Davy," 1 786-1 836). 
This noted frontiersman was a Tennesseean. He was prominent in the 
Creek war, and after a wild life as a scout and hunter became a member 
of the State legislature, and then of Congress. His waning influence 
with his constituents, owing to the fact that he opposed Jackson, caused 
him to join the Texans in their struggle for liberty. 

1. 54. San Jacinto. See note on following poem. 



204 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

1. 57- Thermopylae, the pass from Thessaly into Locris where 
Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans fell, B.C. 480. 
14. The Fight at the San Jacinto. By John Williamson Palmer. 
John Williamson Palmer. See note on " The Maryland Battalion." 

The San Jacinto is a river in southern Texas which joins Buffalo 
Bayou very near where that stream empties into Galveston Bay. The 
battle by which the Texans gained their independence took place on the 
2ist of April, 1836, The Texan army numbered exactly seven hundred 
and eighty-three men, while the Mexicans had more than double that 
force. 

Stanza l. Harman (Clark M.), a member of the Texan artillery 
corps. 

Stanza 2. For Santa Anna, Castrillon, Almonte and Cos, see 
" The Men of the Alamo." 

Portilla (J. N. de la), the Mexican colonel, a native of Yucatan, in 
command at Goliad, who carried out wSanta Anna's infamous order, and 
executed Colonel Fannin and his men. See Fannin, p. 205. 

Houston. See " The Men of the Alamo." 

Stanza 4. Deaf Smith (Erastus, called "Deaf " from his infirmity, 
1787-1837), a New Yorker by birth, and a guide and spy in the Texan 
army. His parents early emigrated to Mississippi, and he visited Texas 
in 1817, but did not settle there until 1821. His courage and coolness 
in battle were remarkable, and his familiarity with the country rendered 
his services of the greatest value to the Texan cause. 

Karnes (Henry W.), a Tennesseean, who rose to the rank of colonel 
in the Texan service. He served with "Deaf" Smith as a scout on 
various occasions, and was a captain of cavalry at San Jacinto. He died 
at San Antonio in 1840. 

Stanza 6. For Travis, Bowie, and Crockett, see " The Men of 
the Alamo." 

Milam (Benjamin R.), one of the most distinguished and valorous of 
the Texan patriots who was killed while conducting the attack on San 
Antonio, December 7, 1835. (See Cos.). Milam was a Kentuckian, 
and was one of the first citizens of the United States to visit Texas. He 
was prominent in the Mexican War for Independence, but later suffered 
much at the hands of the Mexicans. The subjoined tribute to his 
memory is by William H, Wharton. 

Oft shall the soldier think of thee. 

Thou dauntless leader of the brave. 
Who on the heights of Tyranny 

Won Freedom and a glorious grave. 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 20$ 

And o'er thy tomb shall pilgrims weep, 
And pray to heaven in murmurs low 

That peaceful be the hero's sleep 
Who conquered San Antonio. 

Enshrined on Honor's deathless scroll, 
A nation's thanks will tell thy fame ; 

Long as her beauteous rivers roll 

Shall Freedom's votaries hymn thy name. 

For bravest of the Texan clime. 

Who fought to make her children free, 

Was Milam, and his death sublime 
Linked with undying Liberty ! 

Fannin (James W., 1800-1S35), a Texan colonel, born in North 
Carolina, who, with nearly four hundred men, was shot down in cold 
blood at Goliad, on the San Antonio River, after he had surrendered at 
the battle of Coleto Creek. 

Millard (Henry), a Texan lieutenant-colonel. 

Lamar (Mirabeau B.), the third president of the Republic of Texas, 
a Georgian by birth. He had command of the cavalry at San Jacinto. 

15. Monterey. By Charles Fenno Hoffman. 

Charles Fenno Hoffman, one of our most versatile and voluminous 
writers until his brain became affected in 1849, was born in New 
York City in 1806. He died in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, June 
7, 1884. 
Monterey is the capital of the Mexican State Nuevo Leon. The 

famous battle was fought on September 21, 22, and 23, 1846. The 

place was defended by ten thousand men under General Ampudia. 

The American force is estimated to have been about six thousand 

five hundred. 

16. The Defense of Lawrence. By Richard Realf. 

Richard Realf was born in Framfield, Sussex, England, June 14, 
1834. He emigrated to America in 1855, and was connected with 
John Brown and his men in Kansas and Iowa during the two years 
following. He served with the 88th Illinois Volunteer Infantry 
throughout the Civil War, and then became a newspaper writer and 
lecturer. Unfortunate domestic relations led to his suicide in San 
Francisco, October 28, 1878. The lyric "Indirection" is usually 
regarded as Realf's finest poem, 



2o6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

" The Defense of Lawrence " commemorates " the resistance made, in 
September, 1856, to the last pro-slavery attack on Lawrence, Kansas, 
when a small number of Free State men successfully held the place 
against twenty-four hundred armed Missourians, and drove back their 
advance of three hundred men." 

Stanza 6. Gideon. See Judges, chapters 6, 7, and 8. 

Stanza 7. The river referred to in the last line of the stanza is the 
Wakarusa. 

17. Blood is Thicker than Water, By Wallace Rice. 

Wallace Rice, a Chicago critic and poet, was born in Hamilton, 
Ontario, November 10, 1859, of American parents temporarily 
resident there. 

" The treaty obtained from China by the English in 1858 was to be 
returned, by its terms, to the Chinese capital for final ratification by 
June 26, 1859. The British forces assembled at the mouth of Pei-Ho 
River, on the direct road to Pekin, for that purpose, June 25, 1859, 
Their heavier vessels were kept in the gulf by a bar, but the lighter 
gunboats went on up the stream until their progress was stopped by the 
obstructions placed at the fort. The U. S. S. Powhatan, Flag Officer 
Tattnall, bore John E. Wade and his suite, who were to represent the 
United States at similar negotiations then pending. The size of the 
Powhatan did not permit her entry upon the river, so Tattnall secured 
the small unarmed merchant steamer Toey- Wan to take the representa- 
tive of our government to Pekin. The rest of the story is told sub- 
stantially as it occurred, the British loss being 89 killed and 345 
wounded, out of 1,100 engaged. But for the Toey-Wan and Tatt- 
nall's interference — wholly unwarranted by all considerations save 
those which he himself brought forward — there can be no doubt that 
England's entire force would have been killed or captured." W. R, 

Josiah Tattnall, the hero of the "Blood is Thicker than Water" 
episode, was the son of a Georgia soldier and statesman, and was born 
in Bonaventure, Georgia, November 9, 1795. He entered the navy at 
seventeen, and served in the War of 1812, in the war with Algiers, and 
in the Mexican War. Soon after the outbreak of the Rebellion he 
offered his services to the Confederates. It was he who, in March, 
1862, succeeded Franklin Buchanan in command of the Merrimac, and 
it was he who destroyed that noted vessel to prevent her capture. He 
died in Savannah, Georgia, June 14, 1871. 

Stephen Decatur Trenchard, who was wounded at the Pei-Ho engage- 
ment, entered the navy in 1834, and served until 1880, when he was 



NOTES— IN TIME OF STRIFE 20/ 

retired, being at the time a rear-admiral. He was a lieutenant when he 
fought with Tattnall. 

The Gulf of Pechi-Li is a land-locked extension of the Yellow Sea 
between the base of the Corean peninsula and the Chinese province of 
Shan-Tung. 

The Pei-Ho is a Chinese river that rises near the borders of Mon- 
golia, and flows northeast and southeast past Pekin and Tientsin into 
the Gulf of Pechi-Li. 

Stanza 3. Hope (Admiral Sir James, 1808-1881). He was twice 
severely wounded in the Pei-Ho action, but remained personally in 
command throughout the fight. The year following, he led an expe- 
dition which successfully attacked the forts, and opened the river for 
navigation. 

Stanza 4. Rason and McKenna, officers in Hope's fleet, the one 
a lieutenant-commander, the other a captain. 

18. Bethel. By Augustine Joseph Hickey Duganne. 

Augustine Joseph Hickey Duganne was born in Boston, Massachu- 
setts, in 1823. He was a colonel of New York volunteers during 
the Civil War. He was afterward employed upon the staff of the 
New York Tribune. He died in New York City, October 20, 1884. 

The battle of Big Bethel, near Fortress Monroe, Virginia, was the 
first action of the Civil War, and was fought June 10, 186 1. The 
Union forces were under the command of a militia brigadier from Mas- 
sachussetts. General E. W. Pierce, to whose incapacity and inexperience 
the Confederate success was largely due. Winthrop (Major Theodore, 
the author of "John Brent" and "Cecil Dreeme ") led an assault 
upon the rebel works, and was shot dead while standing upon a log, 
cheering his men to the charge. Says Horace Greeley of him in " The 
American Conflict," — " His courage and conduct throughout the fight 
rendered him conspicuous to, and excited the admiration of, his 
enemies." The Duryea mentioned in the poem (Colonel Abram) was 
in command of a regiment of New York volunteers. Later, he was 
made a brigadier-general, participated in several important battles, 
and at the close of the war was breveted major-general. 

19. The Charge by the Ford. By Thomas Dunn English. 
Thomas Dunn English. See note on " Arnold at Stillwater." 

An incident that occurred in 1861, in the Gauley River region, West 
Virginia. 



208 BALLADS OF AMERLCAJST BRAVERY 

20. The Little Drummer, By Richard Henry Stoddard. 
Richard Henry Stoddard, one of our three most distinguished living 
poets, (see note on " Kearny at Seven Pines," by Edmund Clarence 
Stedman) was born in Hingham, Massachusetts, July 2, 1825, 
Mr. Stoddard's long devotion to literature (although he was for 
some years connected with the New York custom-house and dock 
department) is too well known to call for extended chronicle. Not 
only as a poet, but also as an editor and critic, has he won a high 
place in American letters. 

Brigadier-General Nathaniel Lyon, a native of Connecticut (1S18), a 
graduate of West Point, and a veteran of the Seminole and Mexican 
wars, was killed while rallying his troops at the battle of Wilson's 
Creek, Missouri, August 10, 1S61. 

21. The Cumberland. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. See note on " Paul Revere." 

The battle of Hampton Roads, Virginia, during which the Cumber- 
land was sunk by the Confederate ram Merrimac, was fought March 
9, 1862. Morris (George Upham, 1830-1875), who was temporarily 
commanding the Cumberland, entered the navy early in life as a mid- 
shipman, and served until the year before his death. He took part in a 
number of engagements during the Rebellion, and was wounded at 
Fort Darling. An incident of the Cumberland-AIerri7nac battle is de- 
scribed by George H. Boker (see " The Black Regiment ") in a poem 
entitled 

THE SWORD-BEARER 

Brave Morris saw the day was lost : 

For nothing now remained 
Of the wrecked and sinking Cumberland 

But to save the flag unstained. 

So he swore an oath in the sight of heaven — 

(If he kept it the world can tell !) 
" Before I strike to a rebel flag, 

I '11 sink to the gates of hell ! 

" Here, take my sword ; 'tis in my way ; 

I shall trip o'er the useless steel ; 
For I '11 meet the lot that falls to all, 

With my shoulder at the wheel," 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 2O9 

So the little negro took the sword, 

And oh, with what reverent care ! 
Following his master step by step. 

He bore it here and there. 

A thought had crept through his sluggish brain, 

And shone in his dusky face, 
That somehow — he could not tell just how — 

'T was the sword of his trampled race. 

And as Morris, great with his lion heart, 

Rushed onward from gun to gun. 
The little negro slid after him 

Like a shadow in the sun. 

But something of pomp and of curious pride 

The sable creature wore. 
Which at any time but a time like that 

Would have made the ship's crew roar. 

Over the wounded, dying, and dead. 

Like an usher of the rod. 
The black page, full of his mighty trust, 

With dainty caution trod. 

No heed he gave to the flying ball, 

No heed to the bursting shell ; 
His duty was something more than life. 

And he strove to do it well. 

Down with our starry flag apeak, 

In the whirling sea we sank ; 
And captain and crew and the sword-bearer 

Were washed from the bloody plank. 

They picked us up from the hungry waves — ■ 

Alas, not all ! And where. 
Where is the faithful negro lad ? 
" Back oars ! avast ! look there !" 

We looked, and as heaven may save my soul, 

I pledge you a sailor's word. 
There, fathoms deep in the sea he lay, 

Still grasping his master's sword, 
14 



2IO BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

We drew him ov;t ; and many an hour 

We wrought with his rigid form 
Ere the almost smothered spark of Hfe 

By slow degrees grew warm. 

The first dull glance that his eyeballs rolled 

Was down toward his shrunken hand ; 
And he smiled, and closed his eyes again, 

As they fell on the rescued brand. 
And no one touched the sacred sword, 

Till at length, when Morris came, 
The little negro stretched it out 

With his eager eyes aflame. 

And if Morris wrung the poor boy's hand, 

And his words seemed hard to speak, 
And tears ran down his manly cheeks. 

What tongue shall call him weak ? 

22. Johnston at Shiloh. By Fleming James. 

Albert Sydney Johnston, who commanded the Confederate forces at 
the battle of Shiloh, was a Kentuckian by birth (1803), and was one of 
the most able of the Southern leaders. He had had a wide experience 
in military affairs, being a West Point graduate, and having served in 
Mexico and upon the plains. The battle of Shiloh was fought on the 
6th of April, 1862. 

23. The River Fight. By Henry Howard Brownell. 

Henry Howard Brownell, called "the laureate of the Civil War," 
was born in Providence, Rhode Island, February 6, 1820. His 
early manhood was devoted to literary work. He served on 
the Hartford under Farragut during a part of the Rebellion, and 
at the close of the war accompanied that ofiicer upon a cruise to 
various European ports. He died in Hartford, Connecticut, Octo- 
ber 31, 1872. Thomas Bailey Aldrich has paid a beautiful tribute 
to his memory in a sonnet beginning — 

" They never crowned him, never knew his worth, 
But let him go unlaureled to the grave." 

The conflict commemorated in this poem, resulting in the opening of 
the lower Mississippi, took place on the 24th of April, 1862. The in- 
troductory portion of the poem is omitted, and a few additional stanzas 
that retard, rather than accelerate, the forward movement. 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 211 

Stanza l. " Up the River of Death 

Sailed the great Admiral." 

David Glasgow Farragut, generally conceded to be the greatest 
American seaman, was born near Knoxville, Tennessee, July 5, 1801. 
His most famous victories were those of the "River Fight" and of 
Mobile Bay, which Brownell celebrated in a poem entitled " The Bay 
Fight," perhaps his best-known effort, the length of which precludes its 
use in this volume. (See poem, " Farragut," by William T. Meredith). 
He died in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, August 14, 1870. 

Stanza 4. Porter (David Dixon, 1813-1891), the naval officer who 
succeeded Farragut as vice-admiral and admiral. He had command of 
the mortar flotilla in the "River Fight." 

Last Stanza. The church-pennant is made of white bunting in 
the form of an isosceles triangle, on each side of which is sewed blue 
bunting in shape of a cross resting horizontally on the white. This 
pennant is used only when religious service is being held, and is then 
hoisted above the national ensign. 

24. Kearny at Seven Pines. By Edmund Clarence Stedman. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman, our most distinguished critic, and one 
of the three most distinguished of our living poets (the others being 
Richard Henry Stoddard and Thomas Bailey Aldrich), was born in 
Hartford, Connecticut, October 8, 1833. He entered journalism 
after leaving college, and was a war correspondent during the early 
years of the Civil War. Later he purchased a seat in the New York 
stock exchange, and became a broker, devoting his leisure to litera- 
ture. He has for many years been one of the most prominent fig- 
ures in literary New York. 

The battle of Seven Pines was fought on the 31st of May, 1862. 

Philip Kearny was born in New York City, June 2, 1815. Entering 
the army in 1837, he was sent to Europe two years later to observe the 
tactics of the French cavalry. Enlisting in the French service, he per- 
formed many daring exploits in Algiers. He was in the Mexican War, 
and was the first American to enter the city of Mexico. He won the 
cross of the Legion of Honor in the Franco-Austrian war of 1859, and 
his service to the Union cause in the Rebellion before his death was 
conspicuous. General Scott once referred to him as the bravest and 
most perfect soldier he ever knew. The battle of Chantilly, where 
General Kearny lost his life, took place September i, 1862. The gen- 
eral became separated from his men in the dusk and driving rain, and 



212 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

rode by mistake into the Confederate line. Encountering some skirm- 
ishers, he perceived his blunder, wheeled his horse, and endeavored to 
escape, but a volley rang out and he fell. It was in Kearny's memory 
that George H. Boker wrote his most tender lyric : 

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER 

Close his eyes ; his work is done ! 

What to him is friend or foeman. 
Rise of moon, or set of sun. 

Hand of man, or kiss of woman? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? he cannot know : 
Lay him low ! 

As man may, he fought his fight. 

Proved his truth by his endeavor ; 
Let him sleep in solemn night. 
Sleep forever and forever. 
Lay him low, lay him low 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? he cannot know : 
Lay him low ! 

Fold him in his country's stars. 

Roll the drum and fire the volley ; 
What to him are all our wars, 

What but Death bemocking Folly ? 
Lay him low, lay him low. 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? he cannot know : 
Lay him low ! 

Leave him to God's watching eye. 

Trust him to the hand that made him. 
Mortal love weeps idly by : 

God alone has power to aid him. 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? he cannot know : 
Lay him low ! 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 213 

Stanza l. Jameson (Charles Davis), a brigadier-general of volun- 
teers who died in the service. 

Berry (Hiram George), a major-general of volunteers, killed in the 
battle of Chancellorsville. See " Keenan's Charge." 

Birney (David Bell), a major-general of volunteers, who succeeded 
General Berry after the fall of the latter at Chancellorsville. He died 
in the service. 

25. An Unknown Hero. By William Gordon McCabe. 

William Gordon McCabe was born in Richmond, Virginia, August 

4, 1 841. He served in various capacities in the Confederate army 

throughout the Civil War, since the close of which he has been 

active as an educator and as a writer upon educational and general 

topics. 

" After the battle of Malvern Hill, Virginia (July I, 1862), a soldier 

was found dead fifty yards in advance of any officer or man, his musket 

firmly grasped in his rigid fingers, — name unknown, — -simply ' 2 La.' 

(Second Louisiana) on his cap." Malvern Hill lies near the James River, 

about fifteen miles southeast of Richmond. 

26. Barbara Frietchie. By John Greenleaf Whittier. 

John Greenleaf Whittier, " the Quaker laureate of Puritan New 
England," and by some considered the most distinctively American 
poet, was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, December 17, 1807. 
Whittier was prominent among the anti-slavery agitators, and dur- 
ing his early manhood gave much of his time and strength to the 
interests of the cause. He took up his permanent residence at 
Amesbury, Massachusetts, in 1840, and lived there, and at "Oak 
Knoll," in Danvers, during the remainder of his life. " Of all our 
poets," says Mr. Stedman, "he is the most natural balladist." He 
is seen at his best in such ballads as " Cassandra South wick," 
" Mary Garvin," and " The Wreck of Rivermouth," and in the New 
England pastoral, " Snowbound." He died at Hampton Falls, 
New Hampshire, September 7, 1892. 

It was during the march of " Stonewall " Jackson's command through 
Frederick City, Maryland, just before the battle' of South Mountain, in 
September, 1862, that the incidents which inspired this poem are said to 
have occurred. Their truth having been questioned, Mr. Francis F. 
Browne appealed to Mr. Whittier, and in November, 1885, received 
from the poet the subjoined statement : — "Of the substantial truth of 
the heroism of Barbara Frietchie I can have no doubt. Mrs. E. D. E. N. 



214 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Southworth, the novelist, of Washington, sent me a slip from a news- 
paper stating the circumstance as it is given in the poem, and assured 
me of its substantial correctness. Dorothea L, Dix, the philanthropic 
worker in Union hospitals, confirmed it. From half a dozen other 
sources I had the account, and all agree in the main facts. Barbara 
Frietchie was the boldest and most outspoken Unionist in Frederick, 
and manifested it to the rebel army in an unmistakable manner." In 
spite of Mr. Whittier's belief in the truth of the incident, its authentic- 
ity has been seriously questioned in later years. 

"Stonewall" Jackson (Thomas Jonathan), one of the most brilliant 
generals on either side in the Civil War, was born in Clarksburg, West 
Virginia, January 21, 1824. He graduated at West Point, and was twice 
breveted in the war with Mexico. At the beginning of the Rebellion 
he took command of the Confederate troops at Harper's Ferry. He 
commanded a brigade at the battle of Bull Run, where he gained the so- 
briquet " Stonewall " on account of the firm stand he made. After a 
series of brilliant victories, he was mortally wounded by some of his own 
men when returning from a reconnaissance after the battle of Chancel- 
lorsville. He died on the loth of May, 1863. 

Line 10. Lee, Robert Edward, the Commander-in-chief of the 
Confederate forces during the Civil War, was born at Stratford House 
in Virginia, the home of the Lees, on January ig, 1807. Like Jackson 
he was a West Point graduate, and like him served with distinguished 
bravery in the war with Mexico. At the close of the Rebellion, he was 
chosen president of Washington College, at Lexington, Virginia. His 
death occurred on October 12, 1870. 

27. The Eagle of Corinth. By Henry Howard Brownell. 

Henry Howard Brownell, See note on " The River Fight." 

The battle of Corinth was fought October 3d and 4th, 1862. The 
famous war-eagle of the poem was taken from a nest in Chippeway 
County, Wisconsin, by a Chippeway Indian, in July, 1861, and given 
by him to a farmer living near. A citizen of Eau Claire purchased the 
bird, and presented him to Company C, of the Eighth Wisconsin, with 
which he remained until the regiment was mustered out of active 
service. He was present at all of the battles in which the troops were 
engaged, and would fly over the enemy during the hottest of the fight, 
returning after a time to his perch upon a pole borne by one especially 
appointed for that duty. Whenever there was any cheering his wings 
were instantly outspread. At the battle of Corinth, the rebel general 
Price gave orders to capture or kill the eagle, saying that he was worth 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 21$ 

more than the whole brigade. The name by which the bird was 
universally known, "Old Abe," was given him by Captain Wolf, of 
Company C, of the Eighth Wisconsin. 

Stanza i. Price (Stirling, 1809-1867), a Virginian who served the 
Confederate cause in the West and Southwest throughout the Civil War. 

Van Dorn (Earl, 1820-1863), a Mississippian who rose to the rank 
of major-general in the Confederate service. He was shot and killed 
by a physician named Peters on account of some private grievance. 

Stanza 5. Robinett, a fort erected by the Federal forces at 
Corinth. 

28. Ready. By Phoebe Cary. 

Phoebe Cary, the younger of the Cary sisters, was born near Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio, September 4, 1824, and died in Newport, Rhode 
Island, July 31, 1873. Her best-known lyric is entitled " Nearer 
Home." 

The incident described in this poem probably occurred some time dur- 
ing the first week in April, 1S63, when there were several actions at 
Rodman's Point. This point is a strip of land projecting into the 
Pimlico River about a mile and a half below Washington, North 
Carolina. 

29. The Battle of Charleston Harbor. By Paul Hamilton Hayne. 
Paul Hamilton Hayne, a nephew of the noted Senator Hayne, of 
South Carolina, was born in Charleston, January i, 1830. Most 
of his life was devoted to literature, his best work being lyrics 
descriptive of Southern scenery. He died at Copse Hill, Georgia, 
July 6, 1886. 

The attack by the Union fleet upon the defenses of Charleston harbor 
occurred April 7, 1863. 

The fort referred to in the fifth stanza is Moultrie. 

30. Keenan's Charge. By George Parscns Lathrop, 

George Parsons Lathrop, perhaps best known as a novelist, was 
born in Honolulu, Sandwich Islands, August 25, 1851, and di^d in 
New York City, April 19, 1898. 

During the second day of the battle of Chancellorsville, May 2, 1863, 
General Pleasanton was endeavoring to get twenty-two guns into a 
vital position as " Stonewall" Jackson made a sudden advance. Every 
instant's delay was precious, at whatever cost it was purchased, so 



2l6 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Pleasanton ordered Major Keenan, commanding the Eighth Pennsyl- 
vania Cavalry (four hundred strong), to charge the advancing ten thous- 
and of the enemy. 

General Alfred Pleasanton was born in Washington, D. C, June 7, 
1824. He was a West Point graduate, and served in the Mexican War 
and in several Indian wars. He was the commander of the Union 
cavalry at the battle of Gettysburg. 

Major Peter Keenan was born in York, New York, November g, 
1834. He was a resident of Philadelphia when the Civil War broke 
out, and assisted in recruiting the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, in 
which he was made a captain. Having attained the rank of major, he 
was in command of his regiment at the battle of Chancellorsville, as 
above stated. 

Stanza l. "' Stonewall's' Corps." See " Barbara Frietchie." 

31. The Hero of the Gun. By Margaret Junkin Preston, 
Margaret Junkin Preston, a poet and prose writer who, though a 
native of the North (born in Philadelphia, in 1825), has always 
been identified with the South. She wrote many fine ballads. 
She died in Baltimore, Maryland, March 28, 1897. 

An incident of the Civil War which, though probably true, the son 
of the author is not able to identify. 

32. An Incident of War. By Maurice Thompson. 

Maurice Thompson, poet, novelist, and journalist (brother of Will 
Henry Thompson, — see "High Tide at Gettysburg" and "The 
Bond of Blood "), was born in Fairfield, Indiana, September 9, 
1844. His boyhood was passed in Kentucky and Georgia, and he 
served in the Confederate army throughout the Civil War, later 
engaging in the practice of law at Crawfordsville, Indiana, his 
present home. He was at one time the state geologist of Indiana. 
Mr. Thompson is a nature-intimate, and his lyrics of "wild life" 
have a rare freshness and charm. 

Of " An Incident of War" the author says : " The poem has no exact 
model of fact ; I got it out of my composite impression of war as I 
experienced it." 

33. The Black Regiment. By George Henry Boker. 

George Henry Boker, poet and diplomat, and perhaps best known 
as the author of the play, " Francesca da Rimini," w&s born in 
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, October 6, 1823. He was successively 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 2 1/ 

United States Minister to Russia and Turkey. He died in Phila- 
delphia, January 2, 1 890, 

" The Black Regiment" commemorates the charge of the First and 
Third Louisiana Native Guards at Port Hudson, May 27, 1863. Of 
the bearing of the negro soldiers in that action General Banks spoke in 
the highest terms in reporting to General Halleck. " Their conduct," 
he wrote, " was heroic. No troops could be more determined or more 
daring. They made, during the day, three charges upon the batteries 
of the enemy, suffering very heavy losses, and holding their position at 
nightfall with the other troops on the right of our line. The highest 
commendation is bestowed upon them by all the officers in command on 
the right." 

In her " Camp-Fire and Memorial Poems," Mrs. Kate Brownlee 
Sherwood (see note on " Thomas at Chickamauga ") has paid an elo- 
quent tribute to the valor of the " Black Regiment." 

34. Greencastle Jenny. By Helen Gray Cone. 

Helen Gray Cone, one of the most gifted of our women poets of to- 
day, was born in New York City, March 8, 1859. She is a member 
of the faculty of the Normal College of New York City. 

The story of " Greencastle Jenny" was told by Colonel William R. 
Aylett, who succeeded General Armistead (see " High Tide at Gettys- 
burg ") as commander of his brigade, at a reunion of the Blue and Grey 
at Gettysburg, in 1887. Miss Cone believes that the girl's name is not 
known. 

Greencastle is a small town in Franklin county, Pennsylvania, not far 
from the Maryland line. 

Stanza l. Longstreet (James, 1821-), a prominent Confederate 
general, by some considered the hardest fighter in the rebel service. He 
served in Mexico, and was active all through the Rebellion. At Gettys- 
burg it is said he endeavored to dissuade Lee from ordering Pickett's 
famous charge. 

Stanza 3. Pickett (George Edward, 1825-1875), one of the most 
gallant Confederate generals. His charge at Gettysburg is historic, and 
was " the most brilliant feat of arms performed by the Confederates on 
any field." 

35. John Burns of Gettysburg. By (Francis) Bret Harte. 
(Francis) Bret Harte was born in Albany, New York, August 25, 
1839. The years of his early manhood were passed in California. 
It was in San Francisco, while he was the editor of the Overlajid 



2l8 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY 

Monthly \\\2i\. the publication of "The Luck of Roaring Camp" 
and "The Heathen Chinee" established his reputation. He has 
been United States Consul at Crefeld, Germany, and at Glasgow, 
Scotland, He resigned the latter post in 1885, since when he has 
resided in and near London. 

The following statement, made by a Union ofificer who served in the 
Eleventh Corps at the battle of Gettysburg, is taken from Mr. Francis 
F. Browne's " Bugle Echoes" : — " During the first day's fight an old 
man, in a swallow-tailed coat and battered cylinder hat, came stalking 
across the fields from the tov/n, and made his appearance at Colonel 
Stone's position. With a musket in his hand, and ammunition in his 
pocket, this venerable citizen asked Colonel Wister's permission to fight. 
Wister directed him to go over to the Iron Brigade, where he would be 
sheltered by the woods ; but the old man insisted on going forward to 
the skirmish line. He was allowed to do so, and continued firing until 
the skirmishers retired, when he was the last man to leave. He after- 
ward fought with the Iron Brigade, where he was three times wounded. 
This patriotic and heroic citizen was Constable John Burns, of Getty- 
burg." 

The battle of Gettysburg was fought July i, 2, and 3, 1863. 

Line 11. Lee. See "Barbara Frietchie." 

1. 14. Meade (George Gordon, 1815-1872), the commander of the 
Union army at Gettysburg. He served in the Mexican and Seminole 
Wars, and distinguished himself at Antietam and Fredericksburg. He 
was at the head of various military departments after the war. 

1. 100. Navarre. See Macaulay's ballad, "Ivry." 

36. High Tide at Gettysburg. By Will Henry Thompson. 

Will Henry Thompson (brother of Maurice Thompson ; see "An 
Incident of War," and " The Ballad of a Little Fun "), a lawyer 
and poet residing in Seattle, Washington, was born in Calhoun 
county, Georgia, March 10, 1848. Mr. Thompson was a Confed- 
erate soldier, and his "High Tide at Gettysburg" is one of the 
finest poems inspired by the Civil War. 

" High Tide at Gettysburg," the day of Pickett's charge, was the last 
day of that memorable battle, July 3, 1863. 

Stanza 2. Lee. See " Barbara Frietchie." 

Pickett. See " Greencastle Jenny." 

Stanza 3. Shiloh, See " Johnston at Shiloh." 

Chickamauga. See " Thomas at Chickamauga." 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 219 

Stanza 4. Pettigre"W, (James Johnson) a Confederate brigadier- 
general who was mortally wounded in Pickett's charge. He was a na- 
tive of North Carolina (1828-1863). 

Waterloo. June 18, 181 5. 

Stanza 5. Kemper (James Lamson, 1823-), a Confederate briga- 
dier-general, severely wounded and captured at Gettysburg. He has 
been governor of Virginia. 

Garnett (Richard Brooke, 1819-1863), a Confederate brigadier-gen- 
rral who fell at Gettysburg. 

Armistead (Lewis Addison, 1817-1863), a Confederate brigadier-gen- 
eral in Pickett's division, who was mortally wounded in the famous 
charge. 

Stanza 7. Doubleday (Abner, 1819-1893), a Federal major-gen- 
eral of volunteers, whose division was active in repulsing Pickett's 
charge. It was he who fired the first gun in defense of Fort Sumter. 

For another rendering of this battle in verse see Edmund Clarence 
Stedman's " Gettysburg" (Complete Poems.), 

37. Thomas at Chickamauga. By Kate Brownlee Sherwood. 

Kate Brownlee Sherwood, a poet and journalist of Toledo, Ohio, 
who has written a number of successful war lyrics and memorial 
poems, was born in Bedford Springs, Pennsylvania, September 14, 
1841. 
The battle of Chickamauga (Tennessee) was fought on the igth and 20th 
of September, 1863. General George Henry Thomas, "the rock of 
Chickamauga," who saved the day for the Federal forces, and made the 
Confederate victory a barren one, was a Virginian by birth (1816). He 
served in Florida and Mexico. It v/as he who was in command at Mis- 
sion Ridge, and who overthrew the last Confederate army in the south- 
west. He was also in the Atlanta campaign. It has been said of him 
that he was the beau-ideal of a soldier and a gentleman. Among Fed- 
eral generals he ranks after Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan. He was 
in command of the military division of the Pacific when he died at San 
Francisco, March 28, 1870. The sobriquet "Pap" was spontaneously 
given Thomas by the soldiers of his command on account of the fatherly 
interest he took in them. 

1. 5. Hooker (Joseph, 18 14-18 79), a distinguished Union general, 
who was nicknamed " Fighting Joe " by the soldiers for his courage un- 
der fire. He participated in some of the most important battles of the 
Rebellion, and was at one time in command of the Army of the 
Potomac. 



220 . BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

1. 33. Bragg (Braxton, 1817-1876), a well-known rebel general who 
was in command of the Confederate forces at Murfreesboro, Chicka- 
mauga, and Chattanooga. 

1. 42. Steedman (James Barrett, 1818-1883), a Pennsylvanian who 
was public printer at Washington during Buchanan's administration. 
He was in command of the first division of the reserve corps of the 
Army of the Cumberland at Chickamauga, and reenforced Thomas at 
the most critical moment in the battle. 

38. The Smallest of the Drums. By James Buckham. 

James Buckham, a well-known contributor to the periodicals of the 
day, was born in Burlington, Vermont, November 25, 1858. 

The author states that this poem was suggested by a newspaper para- 
graph. 

Stanza 3. Sherman (William Tecumseh), the eighteenth general- 
in-chief of the United States army, famous for his " march to the sea," 
was born in Lancaster, Ohio, February 8, 1820. He was Grant's most 
efficient assistant at Shiloh, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga. He visited 
Europe in 1872, and was everywhere received with distinguished honor. 
In 1874 he retired from the command of the army to make room for 
Sheridan. He died in New York City, February 14, 1S91. See " Sher- 
man, an Horatian Ode," by Louise Imogen Guiney ("A Roadside 
Harp"), and " General Sherman," by H. C. Bunner (Complete Poems), 

Stanza 4. Chickamauga. See " Thomas at Chickamauga." 

39. Little Giffen. By Francis Orrery Ticknor. 

Francis Orrery Ticknor, a physician, and the author of several 
lyrics of the Civil War very popular in the South, was a native of 
Georgia, and died near Columbus, in that State, in 1874. A pos- 
thumous volume of his poems was issued in 1879, with an introduc- 
tion by Paul H. Hayne. 

The hero of this poem was Isaac Giffen, a native of the mountainous 
region of East Tennessee. He had been terribly wounded at Murfrees- 
boro, and was taken by Dr. Ticknor and his wife into their own home. 
He fell in one of the battles before Atlanta. 

Stanza 5. "Johnson pressed at the front, they say." Probably 
General Joseph Eggleston Johnston, is meant. 

40. Ulric Dahlgren. By Kate Brownlee Sherwood. 

Kate Brownlee Sherwood. See note on "Thomas at Chicka- 
mauga.'' 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 221 

Colonel Ulric Dahlgren, the son of Admiral Dahlgren, distinguished 
himself while serving upon the staffs of General Hooker, General 
Sigel, and General Meade, lost a leg at Gettysburg, and while on crutches 
led an expedition to free the Union prisoners in Libby prison at Rich- 
mond, during which he was ambushed and slain, on the night of March 
2, 1864. He was twenty-two years of age. 

41. Farragut. By William Tuckey Meredith. 

William Tuckey Meredith was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 
June 16, 1839. He served with Farragut at the battle of Mobile 
Bay, and was afterward the admiral's secretary. He subsequently 
became a banker in New York City. 

The battle of Mobile Bay was fought August 5, 1864. See " Craven," 
below, 

Farragut. See note on " The River Fight." 
Stanza 2. Morgan, a Confederate fort. 

42. Lee TO THE Rear. By John Randolph. Thompson. 

John Randolph Thompson, journalist and poet, was born in Rich- 
mond, Virginia, October 23, 1823. He abandoned the law to 
devote himself to literature, and for a dozen years successfully 
edited the Southern Literary Messenger. After the Civil War he 
was for a time literary editor of the New York Evening Post. He 
died in New York City, April 30, 1873. 

The incident described in the poem is authentic. For Lee, See 
'' Barbara Frietchie." 

Stanza i. The W^ilderness is a region a few miles south of the 
Rapidan river, in Virginia, memorable for the dreadful battle fought 
there between the Federal army under Grant and the Confederate forces 
under Lee on the 5th and 6th of May, 1864. 

Mendelssohn, the famous German composer, 1 809-1 847. 

Stanza 4. Grant (Ulysses Simpson, 1822-1885), the eighteenth 
president of the United States, and the most distinguished Federal gen- 
eral in the War of the Rebellion. Grant's most celebrated battles were 
Fort Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, and the conflicts in the 
Wilderness and before Richmond, which culminated in the surrender 
of Lee. See " Grant," by H. C. Bunner (Complete Poems); "On 
the Death of an Invincible Soldier," by E. C. Stedman ("Poems Now 
First Collected") ; and "Great Captain, Glorious in Our Wars," by 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich (Complete Poems), 



222 BALLADS OF AATELUCAN BRAVERY 

43. Craven. By Henry Newbolt. 

Henry Newbolt, an English lawyer and poet, was born in Bilston, 
England, June 6, 1862. His best work is to be found in the vol- 
ume entitled " Admirals All." 

Craven (Tunis Augustus Macdonough), the " Sidney of the American 
navy," was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in January, 1813. 
He entered the navy at sixteen, and was a commander at the opening 
of the Civil War. As captain of the monitor Tecumseh, which had 
been given the post of honor, and Avas leading the fleet, he met his death 
in Mobile Bay, August 5, 1864. 

Stanza 8. Sidney (Sir Philip, poet, soldier, and statesman. 1554- 
1586.) The reference is to the well-known story of Sidney's refusing a 
cup of water, when lying mortally wounded on the battle-field of Zut- 
phen, in order to give it to a wounded soldier. 

Nelson. See " Fight of the Arinstrong Privateer." The reference 
here is to the battle of the Nile, where Nelson was severely wounded. 

Lucas, a young English captain, who was captured and imprisoned 
by an Indian despot (Hyder Ali,) during the campaign of 1780. To 
relieve Captain Baird, a severely wounded comrade, he assumed two 
sets of chains, so that the wounded man might be left free. 

Outram. (Sir James, 1803-1863.) The reference is to his action 
at Cawnpore, in 1857, when, though superior in command, in ad- 
miration for the brilliant deeds of General Havelock, he conceded 
to that soldier the glory of relieving Lucknow, waiving his own rank, 
and tendering his services as a volunteer. 

44. Gracie of Alabama. By Francis Orrery Ticknor. 
Francis Orrery Ticknor. See " Little Giffen." 

Petersburg, the scene of this incident, a city which witnessed some 
of the fiercest fighting of the Civil War, is situated upon the southern, 
bank of the Appomattox River, about twenty miles south of Richmond. 

The Gracie of the poem (Archibald,) was a Confederate brigadier- 
general who served with distinction at Knoxville and Chickamauga. 

Stanza 3. Lee. See " Barbara Frietchie." 

45. The Ballad of A Little Fun. By Maurice Thompson. 
Maurice Thompson. See note on "An Incident of War." 

Stanza 5. Salliquoy. A tributary of the Coosawattee. (See below.) 
Stanza 6. Coosawattee. A stream that rises in Gilmer county, 



NOTES — IN TIME OE STRIEE 223 

northern Georgia, and flows southwesterly through Gordon county, 
where it unites with the Canasauga to form the Oostanaula. 

This poem relates an adventure that befell a Confederate scouting 
party near Hogan's Ford, on the Coosawattee, while out upon a recon- 
noitering expedition late in 1864, or early in 1865. 

46. Sheridan's Ride. By Thomas Buchanan Read. 

Thomas Buchanan Read, poet and artist, was born in Chester 
county, Pennsylvania, March 12, 1822. After a roving youth, he 
settled in Philadelphia, in which town and various Italian cities 
most of his life was spent. He died in New York City, May 11, 
1872. The lyrics "Drifting" and "The Closing Scene " show 
Read at his best as a poet. 

Sheridan (Philip, generally known to army men as " Little Phil," 
1831-1888), was the most distinguished Federal cavalry leader in the 
Civil War. Serving in the early part of the war with the Army of the 
Cumberland, during the latter portion of the conflict he was with 
the Army of the Potomac, and rendered Grant important aid in crushing 
Lee. His own version of his famous ride (October 19, 1S64,) may be 
read in his memoirs. It has been said of Sheridan that he was never 
defeated, but often plucked victory from the jaws of defeat. 

Line 2. Winchester. The capital of Frederick county, Vir- 
ginia, and the key to the Shenandoah valley. 

47. Down the Little Big Horn. By Francis Brooks. 

Francis Brooks, a Chicago poet, who was born in Memphis, Ten- 
nessee, March 7, 1867, and died near Geneva, Wisconsin, April I2, 
1898. A memorial edition of his poems, edited by Wallace Rice, 
was issued in the autumn of 1898. 

Custer (George Armstrong) was born in New Rumley, Ohio, Decem- 
ber 5, 1839. He entered the army directly after his graduation from 
West Point in June, 1861, and participated in all but one of the battles 
of the Army of the Potomac, attaining the rank of major-general at 
twenty-five. He had eleven horses shot under him in battle. After 
the Civil War he served in several Indian campaigns. His last fight, 
on the banks of the Little Big Horn river in Montana, took place June 
26, 1876. See "Custer," by Edmund Clarence Stedman (Complete 
Poems). 

Stanza 2. Sitting Bull, who commanded the Indians in the Custer 
fight, was a Sioux chief, born about 1837. He was killed while resist- 
ing arrest in the Sioux outbreak of December, 1890. 



224 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Stanza 3. Rain-in-the-Face, a Sioux chief, who had been impris- 
oned for murdering a sutler and veterinary surgeon, but had sub- 
sequently escaped. See Longfellow's poem, " The Revenge of 
Rain-in-the-Face. " 

Stanza 7. Comanche. See " Miles Keogh's Horse," by John 
Hay (Poems). 

48. The Bond of Blood. By Will Henry Thompson. 

Will Henry Thompson. See note on "High Tide at Gettys- 
burg." 

Stanzas. Lee. See " Barbara Frietchie." 

Stanza 6. Hancock (Winfield Scott, 1824-1886), a distinguished 
Union general, and the Democratic candidate for President in 1880. 
He was conspicuous for his gallantry at Gettysburg, where he was 
wounded. The reference in this stanza is probably to the battle of 
Spottsylvania, where he captured and held a salient of field-works on 
the Confederate center, afterward known as " the bloody angle." 

Stanza 9. Hill, either A. P. or D. H., both noted Confederate 
generals. 

Gordon (George Washington), a brilliant Confederate leader, well 
known after the war as a lawyer and public speaker. 

Stanza 12. Sherman. See " The Smallest of the Drums." 

Stanza 16. Wilderness. See " Lee to the Rear." 

49. A Ballad of Manila Bay. By Charles George Douglas Roberts, 
Charles George Douglas Roberts, poet and novelist, was born near 
Frederickton, New BrunsMdck, January 10, i860. He was at one 
time Professor of English Literature in King's College, Windsor, 
Nova Scotia. Of recent years he has resided in the United States 
and devoted himself entirely to writing. He is commonly spoken 
of as the leader of the Canadian School of poets. 

George Dewey, who by his victory over the Spanish in Manila Bay 
has come to be looked upon as the greatest naval commander of modern 
times, was born in Montpelier, Vermont, December 26, 1837. He was 
with Farragut at the opening of the Mississippi (see " The River 
Fight "), and took part in the severe engagements at Fort Fisher. He 
became a commodore in 1896, and in recognition of his Manila victory 
(May I, 1898), and his subsequent services, he was promoted, first to the 
rank of rear-admiral, and later to that of admiral. 

Stanza i. Corregidor, an island at the entrance to Manila Bay. 

Stanza 4. El Fraile (the Friar), an outcrop of rock, tunnelled to 



NOTES — IN TIME OF STRIFE 22$ 

serve as a battery, lying in the main channel almost due south of the 
westerly tip of Corregidor. 

Stanza 7. Kalibuyo and Salinas, towns in the province of Cavite, 
on the southern shore of Manila Bay. 

Stanza 8. Cavite, a former Spanish fortress and naval station 
situated upon a point of land seven miles south of Manila, 

Stanza 10. Bakor Bay, the bay formed by the projection upon 
which Cavite is situated. 

Stanza 14. Drake (Sir Francis, 1540-1596), the greatest of the 
Elizabethan seaman, whose strategy and skill and audacious courage 
were largely instrumental in destroying the Spanish Armada. 

Farragut. See " The River Fight." 

Blake (Robert, 1599-1657), called, next to Nelson, the greatest of 
the English admirals, and noted for his victories over the Dutch 
and Spanish. 

Stanza 16. Nelson. See "The Fight of the Armstrong Pri- 
vateer." 

50. Dewey at Manila. By Robert Underwood Johnson. 

Robert Underwood Johnson, associate-editor of the Century Maga- 
zine, was born in Washington, D. C, January 12, 1853. As sec- 
retary of the Authors' and Publishers' Copyright Leagues, Mr. 
Johnson rendered valuable services to the cause of international 
copyright. 
Dewey. See note on " A Ballad of Manila Bay," by Charles George 
Douglas Roberts. 

Stanza i. Bocagrande (large mouth), the main channel into 
Manila Bay south of Corregidor Island. The northerly channel is called 
Bocachica (small mouth). 

Corregidor. See " A Ballad of Manila Bay." 
Stanza 6. Cavite. See "A Ballad of Manila Bay." 
Stanza 7. Montojo (Admiral Patricio Montojo y Pasaron), the 
commander of the Spanish naval forces in the Philippines. 
Stanza 8. Farragut. See " The River Fight." 
Stanza 12. Gridley (Charles Vernon, 1845-1898), the captain of 
Admiral Dewey's flagship, the Olympia. 

51. The Men of the " Merrimac." By Clinton Scollard. 
Clinton Scollard. See note on " Montgomery at Quebec." 

The Meri'ii?iac ^M2iS sunk on the morning of June 3, i8g8, in order to 
block the narrow channel into Santiago Bay where the Spanish fleet was 
at anchor. The men who engaged in the perilous venture were : 
IS 



226 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

Lieutenant Richard Pearson Hobson, naval constructor (born in 
Greensboro, Alabama, August 17, 1870 ; graduated from Annapolis at 
the head of his class in 1889 ; studied in France, and at the opening of 
the Spanish war was conducting the post-graduate course in construc- 
tion at the Naval Academy at Annapolis). 

Osborn Deignan, a coxswain of the Merrimac. 

George F, Phillips, a machinist of the Merrimac. 

John Kelly, a water-tender of the Merrimac. 

George Charette, a gunner's mate of the New York. 

Daniel Montagu, a seaman of the Brooklyn. 

J. C. Murphy, a coxswain of the Lowa. 

Randolph Clausen, a coxswain of the New York. 

Stanza 6. Morro, the ancient Spanish fortress commanding Santi- 
ago Bay. 

Socapa and Estrella, batteries at the entrance to the bay. 

52, The Charge at Santiago. By William Hamilton Hayne. 
William Hamilton Hayne, son of Paul Hamilton Hayne (see " The 
Battle of Charleston Harbor"), was born in Charleston, South Caro- 
lina, March 11, 1856. He has the true lyrical instinct, and is the 

author of many quatrains and much finished " nature " verse. 

Mr. Hayne's poem commemorates the valor of the American troops in 
their charge on San Juan Hill, near Santiago de Cuba, July i, 1898. 

53. Spain's Last Armada. By Wallace Rice. 

Wallace Rice. See note on " Blood is Thicker than Water." 

. " Spain's Last Armada" celebrates the great naval victory of July 3, 
1898. 

Stanza 3. El Morro and Socapa. See note on "The Men of 
the Merrimac.'''' 

Stanza 11. Nimanima, the cove, six and a-half miles from the en- 
trance to Santiago harbor, where the Lnfattta Maria Teresa was 
beached. 

Stanza 12. Juan Gonzales, about seven miles from the port of 
Santiago. 

Stanza 13. Aserradero, fifteen miles from Santiago. 

Stanza 16. The Cape o' the Cross, Cape Cruz, at the south- 
western extremity of Cuba. 

Tarquino, the mouth of the Rio Tarquino, where the ill-fated Virgi- 
nius expedition landed. 



NOTES — IN TIME OF PEACE 22/ 

54. Ballad of Paco Town. By Clinton ScoUard. 

Clinton Scollard, See note on " Montgomery at Quebec." 

The incident described in this ballad occurred during the battle of 
Santa Ana, fought on the 5th of February, 1899, and resulting in the 
total rout of General Ricarti's division of the Filipino army. The 
signal-man who performed the daring deed was Lieutenant Charles E. 
Kilbourne, Jr. 

Paco is a small town south, and slightly east, of Manila. 

irn Uime of peace, 

55. Peace Hath her Victories. By Wallace Rice, 

Wallace Rice. See note on "Blood is Thicker than Water." 

" This thrilling international episode earned the thanks and rewards 
of the American Congress, Captain Hughes, of the Liverpool steamer 
Ioi-d Gotigh, obtaining a gold medal, and all his gallant men being 
remembered." — W. R. 

The incident took place in December, 1889. 

56. In The Tunnel, By Bret Harte. 

Bret Harte. See note on "John Burns of Gettysburg." 

57. Ballad of Calnan's Christmas. By Helen Gray Cone. 
Helen Gray Cone. See note on " Greencastle Jenny." 

James F. Calnan, driver for Engine Company No. 34, in New York 
City, gave up his life on Christmas Day, 1897. 

58. How He Saved St. Michael's. By Mary Anna Phinney 
Stansbury. 

Mary Anna Phinney Stansbury. See note on " The Sui-prise of 
Ticonderoga." 

The story, as related in the poem, is in the main true. The church, 
however, was St. Philip's (Charleston, South Carolina), an earlier edifice 
that stood upon the same site as St. Michael's. The slave, moreover, 
received his freedom, not from the city authorities, but from the vestry- 
men of the church. The fire occurred in the year 1796. 

5g. The Ride of Collin Graves. By John Boyle O'Reilly. 

John Boyle O'Reilly was born in Dowth Castle, County Meath, 
Ireland, June 28, 1844. Entering the British army at the age of 
eighteen, he was detected in a Fenian plot, and sentenced to 



228 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

twenty years penal servitude in Australia. He escaped in an open 
boat, was picked up by an American whaler, and brought to this 
country. Settling in Boston, his ability won for him speedy recog- 
nition, and he was made editor of the Pilots a position which he 
held at the time of his death, which occurred on the loth of August, 
1890. His most notable contribution to poetry was his " Songs of 
the Southern Seas." 
The disaster at Williamsburg, Hampshire County, Massachusetts, 
took place on the i6th of May, 1874. The Mill River dam, which 
burst, covered one hundred and twenty-four acres to the average depth 
of twenty-four feet. Nearly two hundred lives were lost in the villages 
of Williamsburg, Skinnerville, Haydenville and Leeds, 

1. 73. Curtius (Mettus, or Mettius), a young Roman who sac- 
rificed his life for his country's welfare, B. c. 362. A chasm had opened 
in the forum, and the soothsayers declared that it could only be filled by 
casting into it that which was most precious in Rome. Curtius appeared 
on horseback, clad in full armor, and leaped into the abyss, crying as 
he did so, " Rome has no greater riches than courage and arms ! " Ac- 
cording to tradition, the chasm at once closed over him. 

60. Jim Bludso. By John Hay, 

John Hay, our present (1900) Secretary of State, and recently 
United States Ambassador to Great Britain, was born in Salem, 
Indiana, October 8, 1838. He has long been connected with the 
diplomatic service. During the Civil War he was a private secre- 
tary to President Lincoln, and in conjunction with John G. Nicolay 
is the author of the most complete biography of Lincoln published. 
Jim Bludso was Oliver Fairchild, the engineer of the steamer Fash- 
ion. Mr. Hay is unable to fix the date of the disaster to the Fashion. 

61. George Nidiver. Anonymous, 

62. A Man's Name. By Richard Realf. 

Richard Realf, See note on " The Defense of Lawrence," 
David Simmons, railroad engineer, was killed in the disaster near 
New Hamburgh, New York, on the Hudson River, February 6, 1871, 

63. The Man who Rode to Conemaugh. By John Eliot Bowen. 
John Eliot Bowen, a journalist and the translator of Carmen Syl- 
va's " Songs of Toil," who was for a number of years connected 
with The Independent, was born in Brooklyn, New York, June 
8, 1858, and died in the same city, January 3, i8go. 



NOTES — IN TIME OF PEACE 229 

The bursting of the dam upon the south fork of the Conemaugh 
River took place on the afternoon of May 31, i88g. It is stated that 
sixteen million tons of water were precipitated down the Conemaugh 
valley upon Johnston, Conemaugh, and various smaller towns. A con- 
servative estimate of the loss of life gives it as three thousand, though 
some reports place it as high as five thousand. 

The name of the hero who rode in front of the flood, giving the alarm, 
was Daniel Peyton, or Periton. The following poem, by an anonymous 
hand, pays tribute to the rider's bravery and self-sacrifice. 

DANIEL PERITON 

(May 31, 1889.) • 

Now that the land lies stricken 

By a deluge dire and dread. 
And the bravest spirits sicken 

At thought of the doomed and dead, 
Let a chord of praise be smitten 

For the hero-hearted one, 
And a requiem song be written 

For Daniel Periton ! 

Go not to your olden story * 

For one with a deathless name ! — 
With never a dream of glory, 

With never a heed of fame, 
He dashed through the fated city 

And called to the folk to fly ; 
O God of infinite pity. 

Would all might have heard his cry ! 

Too late, too late the warning ! 

For the wave that bore despair 
Rushed down with a ruthless scorning 

Of mortal strength and prayer. 
It smote in its mad derision, 

It gulfed with its choking breath, 
And set on a people's vision 

The blinding seal of death. 

And what of him who had striven 
To save in that awful hour 



230 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY 

When the stoutest walls were riven 
By the flood's remorseless power ? 

Dead by the bridge they found him, — 
Him and his gallant steed ; 

But ever will shine around him 
The light of his noble deed ! 

A germ of divine creating 

Abides in the human race, 
And a man is always waiting 

To spring to the hero's place. 
And so let the lyre be smitten 

In praise of the fearless one. 
And a requiem song be written 

For Daniel Periton ! 

64. Johnny Bartholomew. By Thomas Dunn English. 
Thomas Dunn English. See note on " Arnold at Stillwater." 

Though this poem has a newspaper paragraph for its basis, the author 
states that he has every reason to believe that the story is a true one. 

65. His Name. By Margaret Junkin Preston. 

Margaret Junkin Preston. See note on " The Hero of the Gun." 
An incident of the great Boston fire, November 9, 1872. 

66. Old Braddock. By John Vance Cheney. 

John Vance Cheney, poet and essayist, was born in Groveland, New 
York, December 29, 1848. He at one time practised law in New 
York City. He has been in charge of the San Francisco Public Lib- 
rary, and is now head librarian at the Newberry Library, in 
Chicago. 
This poem has no foundation in fact. 

67. In Apia Bay, By Charles George Douglas Roberts. 

Charles George Douglas Roberts. See "A Ballad of Manila Bay." 
The destructive hurricane at Apia (island of Upolu, Samoa), occurred 
on the 15th of March, 18S9. Three German and three American war- 
ships were either driven ashore, or crushed upon the coral reefs, and 
nearly one hundred and fifty lives were lost. The British ship which 
breasted the terrific force of the storm, and succeeded in escaping from 
the harbor, was the corvette CaUiope. The American flag-ship was the 
Trenton (see poem), carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Kimberley. 



JUN 301900 



